By the way, the winner of this gets 100 minerals.

I vote for Azrael because this is a popularity contest and he's my bestestest friend.

Why randomize the weapons and then put actual stakes on the game? You're basically asking us to throw away considerations for weapons and devolve into what the last game was: a popularity contest.

I've no need for 100 minerals, so if I win, I'll give 20% of the prize (20 minerals) to each of the next five closest people. That significantly improves your chances of getting some prize if you're in the top half or bottom quarter of the bracket. Yay socialism.

Wha...what about me?!

I also vote for Kame because she's got a super cute fluffy kitty cat.

Aww yiss

Pics or it don't exist.

1. This is going to last for fucking ever if you have 36 hours of voting for each individual match-up. There's no reason you can't do 4 at a time, for example.

2. Who wins in the event of a tie?

The blood-red sun set in the western sky as I traversed the cracked earth in search of my nemesis. It was tremendously hot, as it always was, and the only shade afforded in this part of the wasteland was granted by the occasional cactus and my trusty METAL HELMET, which stifled my head.

There was probably no human being within twenty miles. Except for him, maybe. The man was probably no different from myself, living out in the wasteland like a poor, miserable creature. I was told he was out near the ruins, and if I didn’t find him, they would find me.

So I marched onward, towards the old city. A shame they couldn’t save it. I saw a few pieces of broken glass glistening in the sunlight as I followed the cracked pavement. I reckoned I had about one hour before the desert went completely dark.

Finally I reached the outskirts of the city. A tall heap of rubble served as my vantage point. I wrenched a metal rod from the ruins and practiced swinging it like a sword. This would have to do.

I waited forever I heard the clank of broken glass. I scanned the horizon, and I saw a gray figure half a mile away. He looked weak. Alone.

Just like me.

I pushed the thought away and silently left the mound, crouching as I neared his hiding place with my helmet on head and makeshift weapon in hand. He’s a human, just like me.

I saw the man, the person, hunched over a fire, burning scraps in a steel barrel. I was fifty yards away, and approaching from behind.

Forty.
Twenty.
Ten.
Five.

It was time.

I sprinted the last few steps and swung my rod as hard as I could, shouting as I made contact.

The crack of bone was deafening all the same. And he wasn’t dead just yet. Immediately the man turned around, saw me, and swung a bag of BROKEN GLASS at my head. I felt a mere scratch as the man’s glass crashed against my helmet.

I swung again, and the man fell down, covered in his own blood. I could see him wincing from the pain, unable to continue. His eyes looking up at me. In that moment, I felt pity for him. He’s a human, just like me.

I don’t like to think about what happened after that. It’s a reminder of my humanity. I want to tell RIVE’s family that I’m sorry, but I can’t bring myself to remember that ugly day. Whenever someone asks me it, all I can do is push those thoughts away and remark, “Patrolling the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter.”