Prelude

The seat wasn't that comfortable. One would think that with the resources available they could at least afford a little bit of leather. Maybe cowhide. Maybe he was just being nitpicky. That, combined with his anxiousness. He couldn't be alone in that, right? Ramirez sat to his right, across the aisle. Maybe I should start a conversation, ease the tension, he thought.

"So, uh, Ramirez? Y'know, I was thinkin- "

And all he got back was a stiff, one fingered response.

Can't say he blamed her. Then again, maybe he just caught her on a bad day. They hadn't known each other long, but he. Maybe Headhunter, he thought as he turned around on his seat to look at he-

"No."

Scratch that. Who was left? He didn't know Wildcat that well. Same went for Hawk. Renegade, he knew only from passing in the hallway. Banshee he actually didn't have a problem with, but they were on bad terms, after a slight incident with morning coffee. That left Spitfire, sitting right in front of him.

"Hey!" He whispered. "Psst! Spitfire, hey!"

And he turned around. Finally, maybe the boredom could en-

"Jones, what part of 'top secret assignment' don't you get!? The higher ups specifically told us no communication! We're all given our own orders, all secret, so we don't talk to keep it that way! Do. You. Understand?"

"Yeah, man, I get it, but c'mon, I could use a knife through the tenson in here! Gotta try to lighten the mood, amirite?"

He wasn't even listening. Back turned already. Great job Jones, he told himself. May never see him again and that's how you leave it off.

"Attention everyone, this is your bus driver speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts, we're having a bit of a bumpy ride, so strap in until we reach our destination. I repeat, please strap In until we have arrived. Thank you."

That took Jones as a shock. Not the bumpy ride, as that was to be expected, but more so the fact that their bus driver was speaking. They never speak, normally because they can't. Looks like command was pulling out the special treatment for them. Considering his orders, Jones was glad for it. He took out a canteen from the inner folds of his green battle vest. All the men had a forest green outfit with brown pants, while all the women had the same pants and a green no-sleeve vest. Was it a vest? Who really knew the terminology. And then Jones realized his thoughts were veering anywhere and everywhere.

Keep it straight, Jones. Keep it together. Focus on yourself, don't worry about the others. Let's focus on where to go. Where would he go once he got off the bus? There were lots of options. Maybe Fatal Fields? Not a chance. Sounds like a terrible place. Greasy Grove? He wasn't hungry. Wailing Woods? Sounds like there'd be a serial killer hidden away there. And who named these places? Someone loved their alliteration abilities. He checked a few more off the list: Anarchy Acres, Flush Factory (gross), Moisty Mire, Pleasant Park, Retail Row-wait, forget the rest. If there's one place that sounds nice and calm, it'd be a pleasant park! I know the rest of these guys (I hope). They'll head to the torture pits, and I'll just be on my merry way!

Jones looked out the window. He could see their destination in the distance. Five minutes, give or take. There was only one reason that anyone was sent here, and though Jones may sometimes look the part of an idiot, an idiot he certainly was not. His 'secret' orders were the same as everyone else's, and they knew it was the case for them too, even if they didn't want to admit it. Their organization had put a halt to their constant activity where they were going just for the eight of them. They were just about there, and the sun shone brightly on a land that Jones thought wasn't very deserving of it. Then again, they were all cadets. This was their final test, and whatever happened there was something that everyone knew the risk of. It was for the good of the Order. For the good of all Reality.

"This is your bus driver speaking! We're approaching our destination! The doors are about to open! Be ready to get out!"

And it was time. No pressure Jones, it's only a matter of life or death! He went over his belongings. Backpack? Check. Extendable Pickaxe? Check. His matter-manipulating designer-paper? Check. Had he ever tested this gear out? Nope. But thankfully, neither had anyone else.

"Attention, passengers! We are approaching our destination! Good luck, guys and gals! The final stop is in 30 seconds, so get out now!"

The back door opened, and the air came rushing in. Well, it's now or never. He'd be the first. Might as well get a running start. Jones ran for the back door, now flung open, and jumped, and went into free fall, the ground far below rushing up to greet him.

The 'Battle Bus', as he dubbed it, flew on ahead of him, and he could see the others jumping out into their skydive. The blue bus wasn't magical; it couldn't fly on its own. Instead, it relied on a white and yellow hot air balloon to propel it upwards and onwards, dropping off the participants as it went. Some looked like they were heading to the south end, some to the east, and at least one going to Pleasant with him. He couldn't make out who quite yet.

He was about halfway from where he jumped to the ground, and Pleasant was still far away. He wouldn't make it there by skydiving. Jones reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, and he threw it up into the air. The box quickly unfolded in the blink of an eye, and had now become a fully functional glider. He gripped the handlebars and kept soaring. It felt exhilarating, right up until he saw himself headed straight for a house.

"Quick turn, quick turn, QUICK TURN!"

It didn't work.

Ouch. Oh, oh man. I think I'll lay in the grass for a while.

The best way Jones could think of describing Pleasant Park was just a very contained suburb. Basic houses, all built and furnished as if someone had once lived there, though he doubted that was the case. He'd only seen this place and the other locations through training videos, but he'd studied them enough to know the important aspects of each.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the same sound of a glider flying in on the other side of town. Jones forced himself to look up and saw Wildcat landing on the roof of a house. He could see her takes a small rod out of her pocket, which then extended out into a pickaxe, which she then used to break a portion of the roof. How did the Order make it work? Jones didn't know. What was strange was that these pickaxes had some sort of property that allowed them to break virtually any substance, whether it be wood or steel. The scraps from those materials were then transported to some sort of pocket dimension (complicated stuff, he'd have to review the manuals later.) Then, using that matter-manipulating design-paper, that stored raw material could be used to craft basic structures. Walls, ramps, ceilings or floors, all made out of either wood, brick, or metal. Jones could see Wildcat use the wood she just collected to seal the hole she just made in the roof (not that it hid her tracks.)

Well, enough laying in the dirt. Jones had a mission, and so did she. He walked up to the front of the house, opened the door, and right in front of him laid a gun. An automatic Assault Rifle, to be exact, along with some ammo to go with it. Jones put the magazine into his belt pouch and took the rifle. He had enough space in his backpack for five weapons or items, so he had to choose sparingly. This was actually the first time he'd held a gun before, and it surprisingly felt light in his hands. Still, no time to focus on one thing at a time. He had to loot the rest of the house.

Laying on the ground were a whole lot of guns. Pistols, shotguns, submachine guns, they'd all be important later. Throughout all of this, he had a very somber feeling, as he had never been exposed to so much violence before. He found a Sniper Rifle lying on top of a dresser, and put it into his bag. He knew that would be needed soon.

But as he reached the second floor, he heard a noise coming from one of the bedrooms. It was a heavenly sort of sound, as if it were a bright glow transformed into sound. Through a hole in the door he could see a yellowish glow, and when he opened the door, the noise grew stronger than ever, and that's when he looked on the bed. There on the sheets was a big wooden chest with a big black lock. Which Jones walked over to. He grasped the top of the chest and lifted, and out of the chest shot out loot, and fell on the floor at his feet. Among the chest's bounty was a sniper rifle and a pot filled with blue liquid. Jones picked it up and chugged it down (and hated the whole experience), but it was necessary. What the blue drink does adds an extra layer of protection to the drinker, but once it's depleted more of the liquid has to be drank, much to Jones's dismay. He stuck both weapons in his bag, got rid of his pistol, and ran downstairs. It was time to start his mission.

Looking up into the sky the sun had disappeared, now replaced with a whirling purple circle of clouds filling the entire sky, except for the island. Everyone at the Order knew about the Storm, an electric, possibly magical field kept contained by a barrier, keeping a constant 'eye of the storm' like the center of a hurricane. Except, over the course of the next 22 minutes, that eye would slowly close in until the entire Island was covered, and the longer someone stays in the storm, the more their health debilitates until they ultimately die. And the storm was going to cover Pleasant Park.

So, multitask. Get out of the storms' way and find Wildcat. He ran his fingers through his blond hair and looked in the distance, and saw her red hair behind her as she ran up a hill and took a crouching position. Jones knew what he had to do. He took the Sniper out of his bag, crouched behind a bush, looked through the scope and took aim. Right at her head.

"I'm sorry."

With that final whisper, he pulled the trigger and fired. It was a perfect shot, but Jones couldn't bear to look. He could hear the collision even from a distance. Suddenly, the gun in his hand that once felt light was as heavy as a stone. Those are his orders, he tried to tell himself. This is my only way to survive.

Because the only way to survive on the island was to be the last one left alive.

Prelude Pt.2

The next few minutes became a blur.

This had been the first time Jones had taken a life. He told himself over and over again 'it was necessary, I had to, I had no choice'. Anything to ease the burden of conscience. He had to relay his orders back in his head again, to try to see if there was a loophole, or anything that could keep him from having to do it again.

"Your objective is simple, Cadet. You and a handful of others are to deploy on Apollo Island, but your goal is to eliminate the others. You are to be the last one standing by any means necessary. You've seen the footage. You know what you're about to face. No one else is to know what you have been told here today. This is your final test. If you survive, the rewards will be great."

It was, unfortunately, crystal clear. This was his final test into the Order. And he knew what losing would bring. He couldn't risk the consequence of failing, and what that would mean for everyone he knew. But that was a distraction, a clouding of judgement. There wasn't time for being afraid or conscientious. He had to see this through. He had to pu-

RATATATATATATATAT!

Shots from behind a shed in the distance. One hostile, Assault Rifle by the sound.

And Jones was completely out in the open.

"Crap!"

Jones pulled out his paper and drew up a wall, and resources he gathered from Wildcat sprung out of thin air and formed a solid steel wall in front of him. Using the rest he drew a quick ramp behind the wall that he could use for an aerial advantage. He wasn't losing this. Not a chance.

The shots stopped. Thank God. Time to peer out, see if he's still there.

RATATATATATATATAT!

He was indeed. Spitfire, from the looks of it. And he found a damn good rifle too. Lucky.

Jones took out his SMG, held it above his head, and fired blankly. Hopefully it'd discourage him. Once the mag ran out he could still hear shooting, but not from that direction. Again he peeked out, and saw Headhunter pushing on Spitfire from the East. It actually couldn't be more perfect. So, Jones thought. While Spit's too busy with Hunter, I can advance from behind. He could hear them yelling at each other while spraying bullets wildly.

"Come out from the shed and fight me like a man!"

"Like hell! I'd rather get in front of the director and-!"

What Jones heard would haunt him until the end of his life.

When Jones had eliminated Wildcat, he took some grenades she had on him. And Spitfire being in an enclosed shed made life that much easier. Up, up and away it flew, until…

BOOM!

"Sonofabitch stole my kill! You bastard Jones!"

Well, someone was certainly bloodthirsty. Jones took a quick glance at his wrist comms. Only three remaining, including him. And from behind him he heard a sound like a piercing screech.

A ******* Rocket. She had a ******* Rocket Launcher.

One big explosion, and he was thrown off his feet onto the grass. And she was building a long ramp upwards, and stopped right above him, Rocket Launcher in hand. He couldn't reach his backpack, but he could reach his pocket. Only thing there was his extendable pickaxe. Only one chance at this.

"Say Hi to Spitty for me!"

She took aim, and he threw.

The pickaxe grew to full size just as she pulled the trigger. It hit the launcher and knocked it at a complete downwards angle onto her platform. In short, there was no more Headhunter. But since Jones was looking straight up, he saw the entire thing. And Headhunter's body wasn't there anymore, but he saw it essentially 'digitalized' (for lack of a better word), into a flying drone of sorts. It was like she was collected, and then the robot flew away. Not a conventional death of sorts, and Jones wasn't even sure if it was death. Maybe this happened to the others too. But no one could survive what happened to them, right?

Now there was one person left besides him, but the question was who.

The storm was closing in fast, covering over half the Island. Jones had heard of people that could survive in storm by overusing medkits, but surely that wouldn't be how he'd lose, right? He'd come so far, sacrificed his morality, and this would be how it ends?

But then, there was a rustle. Very faint, but somewhere nearby there were some light footsteps. To his right there was a bush, which was the best cover for the moment. Now, where are they? Jones peeked out, no one there, nor to the right or left. And he could see all the land that wasn't covered by storm. That only left one place: standing right next to him with a barrel pointed right at his head.

"Stand up." A woman's voice. Very commanding, also very unknown. Well, Jones thought, if this is how it's going to end, might as well meet it with some dignity. And stand up he did, and slowly looked over to see a young woman, probably no older than twenty, in bright red armor with hair to match. She was unlike anyone he'd ever seen before, and coming from the Order, that was saying something.

"Hey, I'll comply, I'm a good listener." There was no hiding the nervousness in his voice, but he had to try anyway. "I suppose this is it then, right? I don't know who you are, but you got me fair and square. Would it be possible to guilt trip you into letting me win?" Maybe some light comedy would work. No shame at this point.

"Not at all." Dammit. "But I just needed to get your attention." Huh?

The gun dropped to the ground, and Jones was left more confused than ever.

"Huh-Wha-Why?" Great job, idiot.

"They're watching you, ya know."

"I know, it's a tes-Wait, you know about them? Who are you?"

"Listen, there's no time to answer all those. All that matters is I set their camera feeds into a loop. They don't know I'm here."

"Then answer me this: why spare me?"

"Because I was watching you this whole time. You're not like the rest of your Order. You have emotions. You have a sense of moral and immoral. That can't be said about mot here."

Uh huh. This didn't answer his question, and it was taking all he had to not ask more.

"So what you're telling me is, you spared me because I have a moral compass? Not that I mind, mind you. But there's a problem here: only one of us can walk out alive."

"That's right. And that's you."

The surprise couldn't be more visible on his face, and then the concern that he was witnessing a suicide. And somehow, even though she just said she'd let him survive, she was so… eerily calm about her fate.

"But again, why? I don't understand! I mean, I've got a million questions and- *KRACKA-BOOM* -we've got that to deal with!"

She held out her hand and Jones took it. More for reassurance than anything. A sense of calm amidst the raging storm approaching.

"Maybe another time I can answer. Right now I'm giving you the chance because I've never come across someone like you in this place. You showed remorse. You don't take joy in killing. You'll do great things if you stick to who I just saw on this island. That's all you need to know."

"'You've never come across someone like me.' You've..been here before?"

"Many, many times, and it won't be the last. Don't worry about me."

She started backing up. The eye of the storm was about ten feet wide by now, and she was about to step in.

"Maybe one day we'll meet again," she said as she turned around and walked into the raging storm, its crippling effects taking hold outside his view. All Jones could say as the storm was about to close was

"…Thank you."

And just as he spoke, there was a bright glow all around him, shooting all the way up to the sky. He felt his arms go numb, then his legs, and took one last look out into the storm before he completely vanished off the Island's face.

Prelude Epilogue

The mattress was soft, like sinking into a cloud. The pillow felt like it was stuffed with the best feathers that reality had to offer, like, ..well, a cloud. It was perfect, and that's when Jones woke up.

"So, our final survivor, eh? Kinda surprised he made it that far. Doesn't have that 'ruthless' look to 'im."

Voices, very faint, coming from another room. Well, time to force himself up, otherwise he might never again.

"One moment, Gunnar."

Out of the doorway stepped a dark-skinned woman wearing round, yellow glasses and black battle armor.

"So this is the Cadet that survived, hm? Jones, is it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"So because you were the final survivor, you've proven yourself worthy to join our ranks."

This was it. All the terrible actions he just did finally led up to this. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't thrilled beyond anything reality could measure.

Slone reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked to be an ID card, and handed it to him. He looked it over, and saw his official title plastered on it.

"Welcome to the Imagined Order, Agent Jones. Together, we're going to save all of reality."