Chapter 1: Let the Games Begin
In battle, there are no equals.
Across the world, wherever you find man, you will find two things: conflict and tales. These are humanity's two great loves, treasured above all other things. In the earliest days, it was tales told around campfires to keep spirits high in the creeping gloom. These campfire tales evolved, becoming epic tales, becoming legend, becoming fable and lore. From these fables was born a constant, a single concept that would seize tales told until the end of time. This concept was the Hero.
As time passes, stories continue to evolve. Ever-changing is the concept of the Hero. Ever-changing is the concept of the Tale. One thing does not change, no matter how many times a tale is told. That one thing is conflict. Conflict inevitably arises. Without conflict, you have no tale. From conflict, is born battle. From battle, forged Heroes.
Do you have what it takes to win?
Will you be
Unmatched?
Disclaimer: This story is based on the Unmatched board game. Unmatched is the property of Restoration Games and Mondo Games, and is incredibly fun. This story is not sponsored content, I just really like the game.
Additionally, this story will contain mature themes, and is rated 16 for violence and coarse language. Discretion is advised. Additional warnings will be posted before each chapter to ensure full disclosure.
This chapter contains depictions of grief, as well as mentions of death, including the death of a minor. If this material is upsetting to you, I ask that you please do not continue.
Hunter sat in his professor's office, staring the man down from the other side of a cheap desk. It was the kind of desk that could be bought in bulk at a Swedish furniture store for minimal expense. The quality certainly didn't justify what he was paying each year to study here. He was a young man, somewhere between 19 and 21. His face looked tired and his hair tangled, unkempt from more than a few sleepless nights. His clothes were fairly typical of his age; blue jeans and running shoes, paired with an old t-shirt. To keep warm in the autumn chill, he wore a ratty sweater that he'd been given by his father. It used to zip up in the front, but that had long since broken. He stared through tired gray eyes at the man across from him, unblinking. His eyes felt dry, but he refused to show weakness. Besides, he had no tears left to wet them. They'd all been shed two weeks ago, the day before the funeral. Since that day, he'd felt numb. He had nothing for his professor, who was waiting with the patience of a saint. But, even saints must run out at some point.
Professor Teech leaned forward in his seat, tenting his fingers beneath his neatly trimmed mustache. He wore a sharply pressed dress shirt with a bow tie. He took a breath and removed his glasses, wiping the lenses with a microfiber cloth. He replaced them on the bridge of his nose and ran a hand back through his salt-and-pepper hair.
"Mr. Caine," he began, "I understand what you're going through. No one should have to suffer the tragedy you did, and you have my deepest sympathy. I've already extended assignment deadlines for you, But the work you've turned in since has to be graded on its merit. Your grades are falling rapidly, Mr. Caine."
Hunter said nothing. He had nothing to say. He knew his grades were in the toilet, what was he going to do? Make excuses? Professor Teech noted his silence and continued.
"The student's association offers grief counseling, I'm sure we can get you in touch with some help-"
"No," Hunter interrupted. "I don't need help. I can get through this on my own."
"In that case," Professor Teech began pensively, "It may be best for your education if you take a gap year. Take some time to clear your head, and come back fresh."
"Out of the question," Hunter protested, his voice trembling. "If I take a gap year, I can't get a loan. I'll have to take from my savings, or work through the whole thing! You call that a break?"
"Mr. Cain," Teech sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know it's not ideal, but ever since Rudu-"
"Don't you dare say her name!" Hunter nearly stood up. His face burned with anger, and he felt tears pricking at his eyes. So that's what it took to bring them out. He glared at his professor for a moment, then slumped back into his seat.
"Please don't raise your voice at me, Mr. Cain," Teech said softly. He glanced down at his notes. This meeting was going nowhere fast. "I'm trying to help you. I think you'd best go home and get some rest."
"I'm sorry, Professor Teech," Hunter said. "I'll do better tomorrow."
The two stood from their seats, and Hunter offered a tentative hand. Professor Teech shook it, and the two parted ways. Hunter made his way down the halls, passing by classmates that had lingered after classes that day. He passed by two who were locked in a riveting conversation.
"Did you hear?" asked one.
"Did I hear what?" his friend replied.
"There was another Bigfoot sighting!" the first said, nearly shaking with excitement.
"Another one? No way! That's four this week!" said the first, returning the energy. Hunter scoffed. These were supposed to be college students. Educated and mature people. How could they believe in such ridiculous things as Bigfoot? That'd be like believing in Santa Claus, or Robin Hood. He thought about interjecting, but decided against it. He was exhausted anyway. He had to get home.
As Hunter left the building, he was watched by two women from a mezzanine. The first was an olive-skinned girl, with deep brown eyes. She had shoulder-length brown hair, and she watched with only a passing interest as Hunter left the building. She turned to her companion, who was admiring a mural of a snake on the wall. She wore a leather jacket over a long, white dress, and had heavy sunglasses covering her eyes. Her hair was tucked neatly under a newsboy cap.
"How about him?" the olive-skinned girl asked. The woman in sunglasses shook her head.
"No," she said simply. Her companion let out a sigh.
"Finding the others is taking forever," she said, leaning against the railing. "There has to be an easier way."
"Keep heart, my friend," the woman in sunglasses said. She turned to her companion and gingerly laid a hand on her back. "Destiny has a funny way of handling it."
As Hunter left the school, he decided to stop by the farmer's market. He wanted to grab some fresh strawberries on the way home. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it had to be done. As he walked by the stalls, he saw that one had been damaged.
"What happened here?" he asked the owner, a tall man named Richard Wu.
"A tragedy," he said, knitting his brow as he tried futilely to mop up the mess. He leaned on his mop with a frustrated sigh. "Some monkey came in, gobbled up all my peaches, and ran away!"
"A monkey?" Hunter asked incredulously. Their city didn't have wild monkeys, but as Hunter surveyed the damage, he saw the peach pits lying discarded wherever they fell, and he couldn't imagine a human behind that much destruction. Whatever had destroyed these peaches could only have been an animal. Resigning himself, Hunter grabbed a broom and began sweeping up the pits. As the pair worked to clean up the mess, a police officer approached.
Officer Marian Woods was still a beat cop, but she'd grown to know a few people around the city. So, when she approached the vandalized stall at the farmer's market, she raised an eyebrow at the sight of Hunter, sweeping up peach pits.
"Do you work here, Hunter?" she asked as she approached. Hunter perked up at the sight of the familiar officer.
"No, just helping out," he said as he set the broom down. He stepped over to the woman. "What brings you here?"
"I got a call about a vandalized stall. Sorry to brush you off, but I need to get the details from Mr. Wu. Can we talk later?" She offered Hunter a soft smile, then made her way to speak about the incident with the stall's owner. Hunter watched the two speak, resuming his work as Woods investigated. Finally, the officer finished her work and bid Richard a farewell. She approached Hunter and tucked her notebook away.
"That finishes up everything on this end. How are you holding up?" she asked.
"Fine," Hunter said plainly. It wasn't that he didn't trust Officer Woods. She'd been quite helpful to the Cains in the days following the accident. However, she was starting to pry, starting to break down his walls. He'd worked hard to build those walls! Marian saw Hunter's withdrawal written on his face. Her brow knit once more, but she knew better than to pry.
"Alright. You've still got my card?" she asked, her voice soft and comforting. Hunter nodded.
"It's on the fridge," he said. Marian smiled.
"Good. Give me a call if you need to talk," she said. She started the walk back to her car, taking one last glance at Hunter. He stood where he was, his hands in his sweater pockets. Marian let out a soft sigh and sat in the driver's seat of her squad car. Her eyes fell on an unusual object sitting on her console. It looked like… a deck of cards?
Officer Woods pulled up to the large property and stepped out of her squad car. She made her way past the heavy gate, noting the cut lock as she passed by. This was the home of Rupert Wicke Jr, son of the city's mayor. Why would she be called out to a place like this? She sidestepped the forensics crew and walked to the detectives on scene.
"Another body?" asked Arnold Flannigan, paying no mind to the officer who'd just joined them.
"Second one this week. Apparently his cleaning lady came in, found the place a mess," replied Morgan Flaherty, juggling the complicated task of drinking from his paper coffee cup without getting his mustache wet.
"That's a shame," said Flannigan, checking his watch. "That barista kid made a mean cuppa tea."
"More of a coffee guy myself," said Flaherty. "Pairs better with donuts, don'tcha know?"
Woods cleared her throat. The two detectives glanced up as though something important had been interrupted.
"Bless you," Flaherty said with an insufferable smile. Flannigan laughed. Woods rolled her eyes.
"What have you found out so far?" she asked, ignoring the pair's outburst.
"Well, I learned that there ain't a good coffee shop in this neighborhood," Flaherty said, draining his cup. He tossed it over his shoulder, landing it in a garbage can ten feet away.
"I meant about the case," Woods pressed, her frustration building. How these two had ever made detective was beyond her.
"Oh, yeah," Flannigan said. "Looks like a standard B gone wrong."
"Lock was cut, guy gets in. Then the homeowner wakes up from all the noise, and… pop pop," Flaherty said.
"More like schwing," added Flannigan. "Coroner said the cause of death looked like a sword."
"Who carries a sword these days?" asked Flaherty, crossing his arms. "Can't hide a sword, guns are way easier."
"Swords are just better," replied Flannigan simply. He didn't elaborate, he just blew on his hands to keep the creeping autumn chill at bay.
"Anyway," said Flaherty. "You've got the enviable work of checking the security footage. Anything we can get to ID the perp, you track it down."
"Lead the way," said Woods. They might actually make some headway in this case yet, if these two kept making sense.
The detectives led Woods through the massive house. Every winding corner they turned was bizarre, painted in garish colors and lined with a variety of lamps. They rounded one corner, and Flannigan bumped into one with his elbow. It pitched over and shattered on the floor.
"Guys!" Woods protested, surveying the damage. Flannigan shrugged.
"Broke in the struggle," he said simply.
"What's one lamp, anyway?" asked Flaherty. "There's a psycho on the loose."
The three officers kept walking, finally arriving at the security room. Woods couldn't help but think how normal it looked. She was expecting an Orwellian nightmare, with a massive monitor broken into screens displaying every camera in the house. Instead, there was just a monitor of regular size, sitting on a desk of reasonable price. Half a box of stale donuts lay off to the side, probably leftovers from the guard's shift from last night. Flaherty reached in and plucked out a honey cruller.
"Coroner said the time of death was 12-15 hours ago," he said as he bit into his cruller. "So, you know."
"That's anywhere from 2:00 to 5:00 in the morning," Woods said as she sat at the desk. She pulled a pair of gloves from her pockets and put them on. She opened the camera's playback and typed in 5:00. She switched cameras until she found the gate. It was swinging open, with no signs of movement in the house. She pursed her lips and set the time for 4:00. Still open - she was narrowing it down. 3:00. The gate was closed, and she'd struck gold.
"You're not gonna watch the whole thing?" Flannigan asked, arching an eyebrow. Woods shook her head.
"Too much to parse through. It's easier to skim this way. You find where you're looking for, then you do a little time travel… and you find what you're looking for." She paused the playback at 2:15 am. At that exact moment, the gate was beginning to creak open.
"Look sharp, gentlemen," she said as she pressed play. "This is our killer."
The gate opened, and a shadowy figure stepped through. Marian set her elbow on the desk and rested her chin on her fist. After all that, the camera didn't get a good look? The figure seemed to flicker under the light of the front yard, but he was unmistakably holding something. Something long, something sharp. Marian had no doubt about it. Even in the shadows, the man was holding a sword.
"That's definitely the one," she said. She turned to the detectives, who seemed baffled by her technological wizardry.
"This is useless," Flannigan said after a long pause. "You can't see the guy's face."
"Well, no, but-" Marian started.
"No face, no case," Flaherty interrupted. Marian let out a frustrated sigh.
"Look, we might not know who he is," she said. "But we do know that at 2:15 am, last night, this man cut the lock with a sword, broke in, then used it to murder Rupert Wicke Jr."
"How did you know he cut the lock with a sword?" Flannigan asked incredulously.
"Yeah, any sane mug would use bolt cutters," Flaherty agreed. Marian shook her head.
"Bolt cutters pinch the metal," she explained. "I saw that lock, it was cut clean."
"Well, great," Flaherty said. "We'll put out an APB on King freakin' Arthur."
"Want us to track down Robin Hood while we're at it?" Flannigan teased, and the two men laughed. A heavy throat cleared behind them, and the laughter immediately died. The three turned to the doorway, where an imposing man in a police dress uniform stood.
"Am I interrupting something?" asked the police chief.
Once Officer Woods had left, Hunter purchased the last intact box of strawberries from Mr. Wu's stall. The man tried to offer him a discount, as thanks for helping out, but Hunter rebuffed him.
"See you around, Mr. Wu," Hunter finally said. He waved goodbye to the older man and began walking through the busy market.
"Take care, Hunter," he replied as he returned to cleaning. Maybe there was something in this stall that could be salvaged. Hunter glanced back at the older man, but he was exhausted, and this was beyond him. He dragged his feet as he walked toward the exit of the market. What a day. Hopefully he still had time to get some reading done before bed. As he left the market, he jumped at a sound, like a piercing shriek. He looked up at the source. On the power line sat a pudgy little shrike, adjusting its grip and fluffing its feathers. It called out once again, and Hunter shook his head. Shrikes weren't uncommon around here, but he'd never seen one so close.
"Birds…" he muttered as he walked off. This city was fraying his nerves. He couldn't blame his parents for leaving.
Chief O'hara of the Westpoint Police Department was an imposing man on the best of days. He was large, bald, and pushing 50, but he still had the physique of a linebacker. He was the kind of man that had his officers shaking in their boots when he walked into the room, and his anger could break the will of even the hardest detective. He'd seen his fair share of murders back in the day, but this one? It had even him stumped.
"No, no sir!" said Flaherty, saluting with his cruller. "Just going over the security cameras with the beat, sir!"
"Yes sir, learning a lot, sir!" Flannigan confirmed. The chief stepped closer to the two detectives, giving them a once-over with his piercing eyes.
"You have crumbs in your mustache, Flaherty," he said in a voice that shook the detective to his bones. He turned to Flannigan. "What exactly have we learned?"
"At 2:15, the perp broke into the estate. He cut the lock with a sword and started exploring," Flannigan explained.
"A sword?" O'hara cocked an eyebrow. "He didn't use bolt cutters?"
"No sir," said Flaherty, wiping the crumbs off his face with a handkerchief from his pocket. "Bolt cutters pinch the metal, but that lock was cut clean. We saw it, plain as day."
"Hmm," the chief mused. He looked at the shadowy figure on the screen and narrowed his eyes. Marian let out a grunt of shock and disgust. How could these two useless detectives tell her they had no case, then steal all her observations? She wanted to say something, but this wasn't the time to protest. She swallowed her pride and let it stew for now. She'll have her chance to show them up.
After a moment of thought, the chief turned to leave the security office.
"Woods, I want you to help the detectives with their investigation," he said. His tone gave no wiggle room - it was an order. Woods stood up from her seat with a salute.
"Yes sir," she said.
"As for you two, get down to the mayor's office. Whatever you can learn will be helpful, so take notes," he ordered, turning once more to leave.
"Yes sir!" said the detectives in unison. Once the chief was out of sight, they turned to face Marian.
"You heard the man," said Flaherty with an ugly smile. "Off to see the mayor."
"I thought he ordered you two to do that," Marian replied.
"We're delegating," said Flannigan. "It's a busy job, and we've got a lot to do."
"This footage isn't gonna watch itself," agreed Flaherty, pulling up a chair. Flannigan took Marian's seat and grabbed a stale donut from the box. Marian let out a sigh of disgust, but didn't fight their orders. She turned and left the security office, following the winding hallways out to the courtyard. As she cleared the threshold, a fox popped out of the garbage can, holding Flaherty's coffee cup from before in its teeth. Marian shooed the animal, then made her way back to her squad car. This was gonna be a long day.
Hunter followed the city streets back home, letting his feet lead the way as he lost himself in his thoughts. Could a monkey really have caused all that damage at the farmer's market? What was up with the shrikes in this town? And could he still manage to turn his grades around by the end of the year? He didn't know just how long he'd been walking, but it was starting to get dark. The call of a shrike tore him from his thoughts, and he looked up. It was like standing in the middle of a turf war - on his left, the power lines were heavy with shrikes. To his right, squirrels clung to every wall and post. The air between them was electric, as though something was about to go down. A pricking at the back of Hunter's neck screamed at him to run, but his legs stubbornly refused to move.
[Fight song: Rules of Nature - Metal Gear Rising soundtrack]
That was the moment that everything exploded. Hunter was thrown off his feet as a massive shape hit the ground in front of him, mere feet from crushing him. The shadowy figure before him stood slowly, shrugging off the impact. It rolled its shoulder and let out a bellow, one that nearly split Hunter's head open from the headache. Hunter rolled onto the sidewalk, struggling to find his feet as his ears rang. He looked up to see another figure charging, holding what he could barely just perceive to be a sword. Hunter dove out of the way, but the figure kept charging past him. He swung his blade at the hulking figure, who let out a roar of pain as steel met flesh. The larger shadow let out a roar of agony, splitting Hunter's skull with another piercing headache. His body begged him to run as the large figure raised a massive fist and slammed a punch into the shorter of the two. The smaller shadow raised a shield to block the punch, but the force of the punch sent him flying. The hit was so powerful that it struck like thunder, and Hunter felt the air blowing over him from the blow. The massive shadow charged once more, growling and readying another devastating hit.
Hunter looked up to see the smaller figure climbing to his feet. Two spots of red light burned bright in its face, and it charged forward to meet the larger shadow head-on. The smaller shadow slid between the legs of the larger, dodging the mighty swing of its fist. It sprang to its feet and plunged its sword into its opponent's back, earning another roar of pain. It began the climb, as though it was going for the head. The larger beast reached back and grabbed the smaller, crushing it in a meaty hand. Hunter heard a distinct crack, and wasn't sure if it had splintered the shield or a bone. The smaller shadow didn't seem too bothered, its eyes still burned with red fury as it delivered a devastating kick to the monstrous shadow's face. The blow staggered the larger creature, who roared in agony as it stumbled backwards. The smaller shadow freed its arm from the creature's grip, and the sword materialized in its hand. With a final swing, he cleaved the larger shadow's arm, separating it from its body. As the monster fell, it began to dissolve into a shower of golden sparkles, allowing the survivor to land on its feet. It stared directly at Hunter, who was just now managing to climb to his feet. A chill ran through his entire body as the shadowy figure stared into his soul, the red in his eyes not fading.
That was the moment that Hunter blacked out.
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