[h1] [center] [color=C0C0C0] [b]Q U I C K S I L V E R[/b] [/color] [/center] [/h1][hr]

Pietro Maximoff knew the deal, he had gone through it more times than he could remember. Or want to remember, at least. It always started the same, with the six-armed women coming to see him in his personal dungeon - it seemed they kept all of their "guests" in solitary. She would inform him of the event he was to participate in, then they'd drug him with hypodermic needles concealed in the collar he wore, and subsequently wake inside a red, spherical force field. Pietro had found out the name of the woman a couple months into his captivity. The guards, though they weren't entirely chatty, would occasionally make mention of certain individuals. She in particular they called Spiral. He had learned fairly early on that Spiral was in charge of managing all the slaves for the "games" they would compete in. There was much Pietro had learned in his time on this world. 

Like the fact that there were thousands, if not millions, of people of all races and species taken from their worlds and forced into slavery here. Pietro had discovered that when, after establishing himself as a contender by winning five of their death games, and each and every time after, they would escort him to the VIP area where he would be forced to watch his fellow slaves brutally slaughter one another just to survive another day on this sadistic world. It never ended. They held half a dozen games on average each time they brought him to watch. If he tried to avert his gaze, they would send an electrical current through his collar and shock him. The bastards got off on him watching it. 

Pietro had also learned, after several months, that every slave here was from, not only a different world, but a different dimension. He didn't know how they accomplished it, not that it truly mattered, but one of the spectators in the VIP area - not another slave, this vaguely humanoid creature was a patron and audience member of the games- one day boasted about how he had bet on the strange bat-creature from an alternate universe. Pietro hadn't been sure if that was good news or bad. On one hand, his world was likely safe, having at first feared everyone on Earth had been abducted or slain. However, on the other hand, this meant he was not only on another world, but in a completely separate dimensional reality. [i]She[/i] was safe, they hadn't gotten to her, but his hope of getting back to her had all but been crushed.

The final, and most important, fact he had learned, though, was [i]who[/i] exactly had taken him. Who was behind all of this; the death matches, the ruthless so-called games, and vicious torture. His name was Mojo. The being in charge of it all, Spiral's boss, and Pietro's slave master. He had never met Mojo, nor even caught a glimpse, but Spiral had let slip once that Mojo would be pleased with one of his particular performances in an event. Mojo. It had to be the least threatening name for a maniacal, inter-dimensional overlord in Pietro's opinion, yet it sent chills up his spine every time he would recite it in his mind.

Nearly every single day, aside from the first month he had been brought here which, it seemed, was relegated to invasive and cruel testing periods, Pietro had been forced to run. Apparently Mojo's audience very much enjoyed to see speedsters competing in what they referred to as death races - events in which the subject would be forced to run for hours, unable to slow down unless they wished to be eviscerated by the laser grid following from behind, and all the while having to contend and deal with various, lethal traps that would spring up at random intervals. Their last speedster, Garrick, Pietro believed was his name, had run for over four years before succumbing to the race, stumbling, and ultimately failing for the last time. Which is where Pietro came in; a fresh replacement to be culled. They had designed him a fanciful costume, both to appeal to the audience and capture their attention, as well as prevent his clothing from burning up with the friction of his speed. They even gave him a "superhero" name, something else the viewers seemed to eat up gleefully. [i]Quicksilver[/i] they called him. His shock of white hair had apparently inspired them to the name.

As Quicksilver, Pietro ran. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. He had tried to keep track of time in his cell, but it was nearly impossible to do for very long without knowing just how time flowed on this world, and he had lost track after what he thought was seven months. Each time he would run, Pietro recited one name in his head, over and over, a thousand times. [i]Mojo[/i]. Mojo had taken him from his world, from her, and Pietro didn't entertain any foolish dreams of ever being able to return. He did, however, have one singular thought and desire constantly running through his mind. [i]Kill Mojo[/i]. Pietro would play their games. He would survive, and win. He would do whatever it took to get his hands on that sadistic bastard. 

Or so he had thought. Until today. Until now, when Pietro had woken up from the familiar drug-induced stupor and saw what was outside the red containment field. The long, winding and twisting track he had grown accustomed to over the months was gone, but something equally as recognizable and disturbing had taken its place. That gladiatorial coliseum Pietro had been forced to watch fellow slaves brutalize and murder each other in now stood before him. Or, rather, he stood in it, clearly intended to be one of its newest competitors. He had cursed upon waking to see this, as that bitch Spiral evidently had decided to withhold the information that anything was different about today's event. This was the first time in his entire captivity that he had ever been placed into an event aside from the death race, and for it to be this event... his mind was a blur of dangerous thoughts. 

[color=C0C0C0][i]I'll have to. I've seen what they do in this game. They all act like they won't, but when they aren't given a choice they do it. They kill. They all do, or they die.[/i][/color] Pietro smashed his fists against the force bubble, ignoring the burning pain. [color=C0C0C0][i]I'll have to. I can't outrun this. Not this time. Have to keep going. Have to stay alive. Have to get through this, and find Mojo. Kill him for everything he's done to me. For taking me away from her. For leaving her there with [/i]him.[/color]

[color=C0C0C0][i]It'll be easy,[/i][/color] he told himself as the bubble began to glow and pulse, starting sirens wailing high above, and the platform creeping closer to the ground. [color=C0C0C0][i]Just run in and snap their neck. Make it fast. They won't feel a thing, won't know it happened. A mercy killing. I can do this. I have to. Just a quick little snap.[/i]

[i]Nothing to it I can do this kill or be killed no choice left I can't die here I have to do this.[/i][/color] Pietro's thoughts began to run together as his pulse quickened, adrenaline kicking in. He could feel his body tingle as the familiar rush of his power washed over him, his feet kicking out from beneath him as he launched himself off the pillar, strong leg muscles supporting and absorbing his landing. 

He burst forward hitting sixty miles-per-hour in less than two seconds, feet a blur beneath him as he picked up speed. Weaving in and out of the ruins of the coliseum, and towards the closest pillar to his right; his mind racing just as fast as his body. 

[color=C0C0C0][i]Havetodoithavetodoithavetodoitkillthemwinlivesurvivefindhimfindmojokillhimkillkillkill.[/i][/color]