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ORPG Original and detailed RPs for the experienced and ambitious RPer.

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Old 04/10/2010   #46

= = = M E A N W H I L E , E L S E W H E R E . . . . . . = = =

Donovan Early was not having a good week. For the last two years, he’d found steady employment - admittedly, with multiple employers - in the war-torn country of Damascus. For the last ten months, he had been kept on a retainer by the governor of Chulainn, sometimes doing jobs for him, sometimes being paid for not doing any jobs for his rivals. (There was an old saying in Damascus: a mercenary is worth two men - one on your side, and one not on your enemy’s.)

While working in Damascus, he had become familiar with the name VOLSUNG. Back in the days of Unified Damascus, Volsung had been the name in consumer, pharmaceutical and military goods. To keep themselves “neutral” politically, Volsung had owned facilities in each of Damascus’ provinces. When the provinces began to make war with each other after the loss of the central province - and thus, the Damascan government (Early would love to learn how exactly you “lost” a tract of land) - Volsung splintered and practically ceased to exist. Their facilities ended up as the property of the various governors and warlords who set themselves up in the power vacuum.

So, being called into the offices of the governor and meeting with a former Volsung scientist, only to be told he would have to leave the country… It was fair to say Early was slightly miffed. While he was leaving the country on well-paid business, he had certain side-interests in Damascus that he disliked leaving (a contract was contract, but the contract had said nothing on information brokering).

To cap it all, he’d got as far as the border between Damascus and Artolia, and his van had broken down. Class.

On the plus side, another driver on the Artolia side had just stopped for him, and hadn’t yet tried firing on him.

A man in his fifties, or possibly well-preserved sixties, climbed out of the cab of the other vehicle. He had a fairly solid body shape and short grey hair and beard. Glasses reflected the sunlight, obscuring his eyes.

“Can I help you, lad?” the old man asked.

What Early could see of the face stirred something in his memory. “Are there twelve still standing?” he asked.

The old man froze momentarily, before swearing softly. “I’m Smythe,” he said.

Formerly Doctor Mateus Smythe, Early thought to himself, glad he’d remembered both the face and the code phrase.

“I’m Early,” he said.

Smythe snorted. “Actually, you’re damned late, Mr. Early. But now I see why. Isn’t Chulainn paying you enough for better transport?”

They were. “Call it sentimental value,” he said.

Smythe shook his head. “Fine, I’ll hook your crap heap up to my truck. Sooner this is over with, the sooner Volsung can leave me the hell alone again.”
I work all day and I think all night
I break my body, but that's all right
Cos it'll take all my mind and all my might
To keep one step ahead of you
L.E. Modesitt, Jr wrote: Sometimes cynicism is the last refuge of the idealist.
As soon as you saw people as things to be measured, they didn't measure up.
You think water moves fast? You should see ice. It moves like it has a mind. Like it knows it killed the world once and got a taste for murder.
Gym Leader Kris sprite by Brooke

Sam Vimes arrested a dragon... and carries the law with him like an Ampharos
Vimes and PokeSammies sprite by GLD
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Old 04/11/2010   #47

Maybe it’s all just a bad dream.

Idris Savage sat in a corner of the Recreation Room with her legs stuck out in front of her. Back then, she was a little wisp of a thing, even more so than in her later years – her wrist and ankle bones poked out from her papery skin and her hair was only just beginning to lose its soft brown colour, making it look lifeless. Her eyes were just as bright back then, though. Bright with a childish defiance, shown also in her crossed arms, which – the doctors told her – didn’t help the flow of whatever they were feeding through her arm. The IV clinked as she readjusted herself, staring out at the room and its inhabitants.

Idris was weak and anaemic from the treatments she was receiving; having just been freshly thrown into the hellhole of Viola, maybe a week or two ago, her body was still only beginning to adjust itself to the things going on inside of it. Her ability to control metals was manifesting in a painful way: little Idris had taken to suffering random bouts of mass iron deficiency in her blood for indefinite amounts of time. She looked ghostly as a result, with chalk-white skin and a sad, malnourished look about her.

It was enough to stop the other Destrillians from coming over to talk to her, that was for sure. One of them, a girl with hair like fire, had given Idris a once-over and declared her something that Idris daren’t repeat. Another, a slight boy with flyaway blond hair, had smiled at her in a pitying way – the air coming through the ventilation duct she’d so stubbornly sat by grew warmer but she paid it no notice, and he turned away to attend to other matters.
And so on and so on. When they’d first seen her, a few had expressed interest: the frail-looking girl with the blue-tinged hair and the teenager who seemed to be able to control light, the both of them had seemed at least a little bit intrigued. But something about Idris had kept everyone away, and she didn’t like that one bit.

She wasn’t fooling anyone. Of course it wasn’t a bad dream.

The little girl let loose a shivery sigh and crossed one leg over the other, observing everybody go about their business. It was a while before she noticed that somebody was standing near her.
Expecting it to be a doctor or a nurse, or some other sort of authority, she did her best to ignore them; the melodic voice that came next so surprised her that for a moment, she forgot she was being stubborn on purpose.

“Hi there! Now why is a girl like you sitting all alone in a corner, hmm?” Idris looked up and saw the source of the speech. Another girl, older than her by a few years at least, with a black and white outfit and choppy, chin-length hair to match it.
Like piano keys, a part of her mused. The mention of such things stirred something fierce inside of her but she couldn’t tell what; it felt like whatever it was was buried deep beneath something impenetrable and impassable, something she would never get through. It caused her grief that she didn’t know she could express.

“Hey now, don’t cry,” called the older girl, squatting down beside her and thumbing Idris’ cheeks to dry them. She seemed to sure of herself that Idris obeyed. “I’m Ariel,” said the girl with the piano keys-hair, with a smile that reached her bright violet eyes. “Who are you?”

It took a moment.
And another.
And she started to panic. Only a little. But it came back to her like it had never been apart in the first place.
“I’m Idris. Idris Savage.” Talking to this Ariel was impossibly easy, Idris noted – typically, she couldn’t speak very much when she was having one of her deficiencies. It drained her too much. Perhaps it had something to do with the violet-eyed girl and whatever she could do, or perhaps it was just because Idris was very lonely.

“Idris—that’s a pretty name.”
“So’s Ariel,” Idris retorted, but the faintest of blushes rose from her blood-drained cheeks and that made Ariel smile. The older girl told Idris all the things she’d been wanting to know and had been to afraid to ask about: all about where they were and why, and who was what and how they managed it. Ariel told Idris about how she wasn’t alone here and about how, in some way or other, everybody here was just like her. Suddenly a lot of things about the other people in the room made sense.
Ariel also told Idris something else.
“Never let it get you down, okay?”

Before the small, pale girl could ask precisely what that meant, the Destrillian with piano keys-hair hauled Idris up by her bony little wrist, dragged her—IV and all—across the room, and plopped her down right beside a freckly girl with red hair and a kind face.
“Emma, this is Idris; Idris, Emma. I think you two will get along just great!”

Just great.

Just great.

* * *

“Just great,” muttered Idris Savage, Destrillian prototype 009, as the group trudged along the sewers. A little while ago, fractured introductions had been made and Terra had saved them all from being completely vaporized. The metal manipulator was beginning to remember the fact that there was a bullet hole in her foot, kept clean and clotted only by the metal patch she’d fused over it earlier, and the tension between all the Destrillians was high.
Business as usual.

"Hiya! Fancy running into a bunch of people down in thi-" Before Idris even had time to register that there was another person down here, they were laughing. She stood up on her tip toes to see above the heads of the taller Destrillians in front of her. There was a boy… or was it a girl? There was a person, standing there in their path, laughing hysterically at… The Dark Rider.
"Hahahahaha! Oh my god when did the circus get into town?! Ahahahahaha!"

It was hard to keep a straight face. Idris herself had been meaning to laugh at The Dark Rider a while back but seeing as somebody else was doing the job for her, she didn’t feel the need quite so much anymore.
"Sorry, sorry, I couldn't help myself, anyway my name's Stolz, pleased to meetcha!"
She liked this newcomer already. Silently, she slipped between Terra and Emma, still attached to one another, and The Dark Rider, to see better.

The person was dressed so ambiguously that even Idris, who was occasionally mistaken for a boy, couldn’t tell their gender. The face would have helped tip the scale, only a pair of goggles obscured most of it. Their short blond hair bounced up and down as they rocked back and forth on the balls of their feet, staring excitedly at the Destrillians.

The Destrillians didn’t take kindly. The Dark Rider may as well have set up a neon sign saying “I’M GONNA CRUSH YOU,” and she could feel the tension around Kerr about to snap. The newcomer was evidently not too oblivious because they backpedalled hastily at the hostility. “Woaaaaa now, don't get hasty here! I'm not wanting to get in any trouble now. Hey how would you guys like to see something cool?"

“Actually, I’d just want to see us get moving, thanks,” said… Kerr? Idris blinked in surprise and cast an eye beside her, where the typically silent Destrillian stood. She couldn’t feel any emotion come off him and she had no idea whether he was looking back at them or not, what with his black eyes, so she shrugged it off for the moment—and just in time, too. Not a moment later, a cracking sound could be heard. Stolz, they said their name was, had flung their hand out towards a leaking pipe.
And the water was freezing.

The world skipped a beat for Idris—and probably for Emma, too, the metal Destrillian thought. Quietly, the two met eyes for a moment, and one thought undoubtedly passed through both minds.

Stolz was speaking again. By instinct alone, Idris processed what they were saying. Something about teaming up…
"Well actually, we're not really sure where we are. We could use the help; do you happen to know a way out?" It took a moment to realize that she’d been the one to say it. Idris mentally shook herself out of her memories (SameasEvesameasEvesameasEve) and put them away for safekeeping. Now was not the time.

She could’ve sworn she felt Kerr glaring at her, but she didn’t look. The Dark Rider was taking charge as per usual and suddenly Idris felt tired enough to just let him. She didn’t care for the moment. She fell behind, to the back of the pack of superhumans as Stolz was accepted and they set out again. Idris was just about to delve back into her thoughts when—

So Thetis had finally woken up, then. She scrambled out of the Dark Rider’s grip faster than Idris would have imagined possible, and it made her smile a little. The water Destrillian rushed Emma and embraced her fiercely, then pulled away with just a bare hint of question in her yellow eyes.

And then she saw Kerr.
All hell broke loose. Accusations were slung back and forth; Idris was amazed that Thetis didn’t try to attack Kerr right there and then, and Kerr took it all with only the one small barb of “Are you finished whining yet?”
At least the Dark Rider was enjoying himself. Idris rolled her eyes up at the ceiling—when was he going to figure out that this wasn’t one of the city’s superhero shows? It was real and it was dangerous, and to some, it was frightening.

The small woman shook her head and fell back again as the group advanced. Thinking on it now, Idris wondered exactly how much everybody had changed in the past years. She hadn’t had a very good look at Emma before they’d been plunged into the darkness of the sewers, but she’d looked almost like a normal human. Idris didn’t envy her, she just… wondered how Emma did it was all. How did she manage to pretend? Even Thetis looked more normal, at least. It seemed everybody had begun to settle down, with the exception of Kerr…
Speak of the devil.

“I’m not going to ask you to trust me,” he said, and Idris thought this a funny thing to say, as she considered herself less hostile toward him than some of the others. She contented herself with listening to what he had to say—after all, it wasn’t often that Kerr Nordstrom spoke to anybody without malicious intent. “I’m asking you not to trust this Stolz. You must have felt it too. His energy signature, it wasn’t like ours. The others trust you,” he continued, and Idris could’ve sworn there was something behind those words right there, but then it was gone. “Make sure that if they’re not watching their own backs, then you’re watching them for them.”

Watching their backs? Idris thought. Slowly, it occurred to her that this was why she was in this mess in the first place. A bitter retort about how well that had worked out was half-formed in her mind when a strange string of thoughts appeared.

Idris watched their backs. She watched their backs because she loved them as a family. They were her family… even Kerr. They didn’t use to be. They used to be apathetic and pitying, in a harsh Recreation Room many years ago. Somebody had changed that.

“Never let it get you down, okay?”

Years ago, Idris had figured out what that had meant. She remembered again now.
It meant that no matter what cruel and life-upsetting things were brought her way, she had to persevere. To keep her chin up and her smile on and to weather the storms until she found a peaceful place to make it better. It meant to say what she meant and to mean what she said, and to keep things optimistic when they looked grim. Kerr had reminded her of why she was where she was--why she was who she was.
So she turned her head and looked at Kerr, and with every ounce of sisterly warmth she could muster, she gave him a little gift of two words.

“Thank you.”
And she smiled.

Disappear with the stars and come back alive.
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Old 04/12/2010   #48
Alessa Gillespie

Her leg had been carefully set into place by Emma, though Terra still tried at test step forward to make sure that it’d hold. She made a tiny noise of happiness and hugged her friend, not particularly caring that some new person had found them until Thetis woke up and hugged Emma, leaving her to stand up on her own. This new blonde…whatever could turn things into ice, which worried the crippled Destrillian. Did that mean that Viola had made more people like Eve? Why would they do that, when she already had a number? Were there other places in the world that did the same things that company did? It suddenly felt much colder in there than Terra would have preferred and she tugged awkwardly at her hair.

There was some sort of…cat that was standing in the sewers, a huge one, the sort that most people may have seen in their nightmares. The normally nice blue haired girl was ranting about how Kerr had started all of this, though technically, Terra wouldn’t have even gone to this place if she hadn’t been suddenly kidnapped by the weird guy in armor. She wasn’t particularly mad at that black-eyed murderer so much as she was absolutely terrified he was suddenly going to decide to kill them all.

But they were moving and it wasn’t time to be concerned with whether or not members of their little party were going to murder them all in their sleep. With Emma’s help, she started walking, following the strange blonde…person and the weird cat. (Terra had to remind herself it probably wasn’t the effect of that strange drug the armored guy had given her, since that had been long enough ago that it was impossible) The more they followed the person, the more convinced Terra became that they were going nowhere. Besides that, things were changing in the sewers in a way she’d never seen before. Honestly, she didn’t know much about what was underneath Osea, besides rumors she’d heard from employers, and those were general, typical ‘albino-cannibals-living-under-the-city’ sort of things. But the people didn’t look like albinos, at the very least, and she assumed that none of them were cannibals.

“That’s yer second strike, boys! Next time we kick you the fuck out, you stay the fuck out!”

“Yeah, fuck you too! Well, looks like we got us some pretty-kitties here to play with, don’t we, Sammy?” He looked at Emma in a manner which, if Terra had words, would have made her respond with a resounding ‘Fuck off.’ Well, probably something more like ‘Fuck the jerk until he falls out the door and bleeds the red juice’, but certainly she would have gotten some point of her sentiment across. Instead, Terra sent him a glare that would’ve stabbed him in the eyes.

Kram stepped forward, prepared to fight for their honor, but the monster-cat got to them first. She gasped as the blood hit him and Thetis, and gritted her teeth in panic. What the hell were they following here?

“Don’t worry, we’ll clean up the mess. Mistress is waiting, and from what I heard it’s taking you a little longer than she liked.”

The earth-controlling girl was terrified, to be perfectly honest. Though this had been her normal state since all of this had happened, something about this told her that when they followed this bouncer, things were not going to get any better. But follow her they did, and as they walked, things started to change. The people in this… club(?) were everywhere, but their faces… they were all the same person, though the face kept changing. It looked like her dad, and then it looked like her brother, and then it looked like Emma, and finally looked like someone who stirred her memory but she didn’t recognize them.

“Hey, Terr, weren’t we going to go to Shangri-La? Weren’t we?” Every mouth in the club opened their mouth, suddenly speaking in the strange, young voice. “You didn’t forget, did you?”

Everyone, the everyone that was everywhere turned into one person. In fact, they turned into the only person in the club, even the other Destrillians had disappeared. The face and body of the person shifted into Emma, smiling her freckled grin like she often did. ”Terra, Ive decided to take a job in another city. Im sorry, but Im going to have to leave you, youll be fine though, right?”

Terra opened her mouth, feeling it was dry as a desert. She wanted to say something, but she knew she had no words. The face shifted again, the body shifted, into a worn 13 year old boy, glowering at her, and he was so much taller than her, it was terrifying. “If you’re not going to give up your glasses, you better go make your own money. I can’t feed Carey and Glen dirt!”

She turned and started running, but she wasn’t getting anywhere. She tripped over her own sad, broken legs, crying and gasping for air. A strong, gentle hand reached down to take her up and get her back on her feet. She grabbed onto the hand and smiled, pulled up to her feet by her father’s strong hands. But when she looked into his face—a face of bone with scraps of meat attached to it—she screamed. A hollow, echoing voice voiced its concern for her, “What’s wrong, Tara? You feeling okay?”

The body and face shifted again, now into her brother, starved to death, to Emma, beaten to death, nose smashed in, neck snapped and leaving her head hanging in an impossible manner, into the skeleton-like body of that boy that she didn’t recognize. “Terr, I never died. I just changed. Doesn’t that make you happy? I didn’t REALLY abandon you, I just went somewhere else. Hee!” The face that she didn’t quite recognize said, smiling. Who the hell was this person? Did he kill Emma and her big brother? What the hell was going on? She gritted her teeth, clutching her head, almost feeling herself falling to pieces.

“Who are you?!” Terra yelled, in a voice that shouldn’t have existed, in words that shouldn’t have made sense. He frowned, a rather disturbing look on his gaunt face.

“I’m your friend. You know, the one that had to leave Viola when he was really little. They sent me Somewhere Else, but I left and came here. So now we can go to Shangri-La, right?” His body morphed, changing into someone closer to her age and not that of a child. But the strange, boney look of his body scared her, and she wanted to know where everyone else had gone. She didn’t want to think about Viola and what they’d done, and she certainly didn’t want to think about her early days, when she had no friends and no purpose.

“No, where is Emma? Is my big brother okay? Aren’t I in some sort of club, where is everyone? How can I talk?” She was sweating; there wasn’t anything to fight this weirdo off. She was crippled, and while he was bony, he could probably overtake her in a fight. She needed her friends, or some earth, either, really, not this strange, blank, whiteness that she was trapped in. His body started to shift again, and turned into Emma. S/he held hir arms open, hugging Terra and stroking her hair.

“Oh, Terra, its okay. Dont be scared. I want to help you; I just want you to be happy. I like you, were friends. You believe me, right?” Not!Emma whispered into her ear, spreading lies. This person, why would he want to terrify her if he was trying to be friendly? Terra pushed the imposter away and thought of running away. But running wouldnt get her away, she knew that. Maybe this was like a dream, even though she was certain she wasnt sleeping. She grabbed part of her cheek and pinched as hard as she could. Things started to melt away, starting with this persons disguise, and continuing to the white surroundings.

“Oh, don’t do that. I don’t want to have to find you again. I thought you missed me, I thought we were friends. Didnt you miss me?” His voices shifted between people as it changed back into the club, with the strange dancing and groping hands, but at least, she wasnt alone now. She was with the rest of the group as she had been, holding onto Emmas arm and shaking. The group continued to follow the bouncer, walking through the floor and up another flight of stairs.

“Mistress is waiting.”

Terra shivered, staring into the dark abyss before them. She didn’t want to step forward; she’d almost rather someone else did. She planted herself on the spot, not moving an inch, and waiting for someone… or something else in the room to make it.

is daddy still a good man?
like a shotgun needs an outcome

don't trust the ones who shake with their left hand



can you fight a legendary creature?


Last edited by Alessa Gillespie; 04/12/2010 at 09:58 PM.
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Old 04/12/2010   #49

With every step the Destrillians took, Thetis was becoming more and more weary of their guide. It might not have been so jarring if the sewer tunnels didn’t look like a nightmarish recreation of Basement 5, or rather, if anyone had the slightest idea where the shimmering animal thing was taking them. It seemed like the rats that scurried around her feet had a better clue of where they were going than the group did. The thought of not being in control made Thetis feel a little bit sick, and she trailed her fingers along the rough stone walls to distract her. As she did so, she felt vibrations – the only proof of life above their heads. As a background to the hurried footfalls of the party, there were distant thuds and bangs from the streets of the orange zone – something which Thetis found comfort in.

She strode ahead of the group, not daring to look back lest she betray any other signs of weakness. Then she thought of Fiona. Thetis paused momentarily before soldiering on. Fiona could definitely look after herself; but what if things had got out of hand on the surface? What if the army had figured out just what they were dealing with during the fight? What if they had found her? Worrying over Fiona was pointless – she’d probably raze Osea to the ground before she let anyone take her in – but it didn’t stop Thetis for feeling particularly anxious. It was probably because she couldn’t sense Fiona beneath two hundreds of meters of rock. She’d never noticed it before, but it was like looking up and seeing no birds in the sky. Thetis was so used to it now. Fiona was probably fine; it was just the not-knowing part of it all that rubbed Thetis the wrong way. Whether they were stuck down here because of accident or design, the Destrillian didn’t know; but she knew she’d have to find Fiona as soon as they escaped this labyrinthine maze of tunnels.

The tunnels began to fill with light as they edged closer to civilisation; well, the dregs of it. Dogs wandered wheezing from one piece of trash to the next, their ribs protruding through their skin as if someone had draped a length of wet fabric over a row of twigs. Thetis turned up her nose in disgust as they trudged through scattered beer cans and garbage, while inching herself away from the homeless people who slouched against the dirty brick, their glassy eyes illuminated by the fire from burning oil cans. Everything about them was just so ...hopeless- pathetic, even. It made Thetis wonder how humans could manage to create cities like Osea, technology like IRIN and soldiers like the Destri- She stopped herself. She didn’t want to be reminded.

After a couple of hundred metres, the ground started pulsing. A nightclub? Thetis stared blankly as they reached a rusted metal door. She didn’t understand quite how people could possibly enjoy these places, and she especially didn’t understand why anyone would come down into the sewers by choice. Thetis was happy to finally be reunited with all her friends, sure, but she didn’t feel particularly ecstatic about being led into a nightclub by a glowing animal. It could have been some sort of ambush, and even as a group of seven, a few of them were still worse for wear. The mingling odours of smoke, sweat and beer outside the club made her feel even more uncomfortable than the men who sat staring at the plucky band of Destrillians. The pair of men who came tumbling out of the nightclub made Thetis take a nervous step back.

“Well, looks like we got us some pretty-kitties here to play with, don’t we, Sammy?”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to be here anymore. Thetis heard the others shuffle behind her, and threw the men an unsavoury glare. Humans were so vulgar, especially the male ones. The Dark Rider stepped forward and stared down the two men.

“In case you’re wondering, these ladies aren’t interested. So back the fuck off ok?”

How chivalrous of him, Thetis sniggered. Though the Dark Rider meant well, Thetis resented the fact that he found the need to speak for her and her companions. They were perfectly capable of doing that themselves, especially to a pair of deadbeat lechers, thank you very much. Thankfully, the men seemed to have the same opinion of The Dark Rider as...well, everyone else.

“The fuck you looking at, you… wait, what the fuck is this? This ain’t the costume party, bug-face.”

The constant back and forth was beginning to get a bit tiring. Thetis crossed her arms and sighed as the Dark Rider prepared for battle, cracking his knuckles in an attempt to be intimidating as they exchanged quips like something out of that terrible TV show that showed before work. What was it called? Thetis couldn’t quite remember its name. Cheery Honey? Cherry Honey? Cheeky Hombre? The whole confrontation was beginning to get quite surreal, with most of the Destrillians watching the farcical exchange in silence. Maybe it was a human thing, Thetis thought as she picked at the tears in her t-shirt. At least it kept her from thinking about what must have been happening on the surface. She wondered where Fiona was, whether Ms. Petrowski would be knocking on their door for rent, and whether Tonio was panicking because he-

Thetis stiffened as her face was spattered with blood. The prototype let out a small gasp as she tried to process what had just happened. Her stomach tightened when she saw two severed heads roll into a stream of sewage. Despite steeling herself against the world so she could live with Fiona, Thetis had never quite managed to desensitise herself to the more gory side of killing. Going through with it was fine, it was easy these days; but the aftermath always seemed... messy. Especially the more showy side of it, like this, like what Fiona used to do. Her palms felt clammy against the denim of her jeans, and her tongue felt like sandpaper on the inside of her mouth. The female Bouncer’s voice belied her hardened exterior, and it made Thetis feel even more on edge.

“Don’t worry, we’ll clean up the mess. Mistress is waiting, and from what I heard it’s taking you a little longer than she liked.”

The Bouncer gestured inside, and Thetis hesitated, struggling to regain her composure. As her friends pushed past her into the club, #006 could still smell the blood on her face and in her hair. Was it just her concussion playing up- or had a cat honestly just beheaded two humans in the blink of an eye? Nothing that had happened in the past five minutes had made any sense to Thetis, and that made her anxious, which in turn, made her feel angry. In fact, everything that had happened in the past few hours was a whole mess of chaos and confusion. But never mind that. As she watched her friends disappear one by one into the club, Thetis wiped the splatters of blood from her face and hurried in after them.
It was unlike anything Thetis had ever seen before.

Music pulsed through the club, feeding its patrons the rhythms they so desperately needed as lights flittered about the air while humans danced and danced and melted into one another so sensually and slowly with mouths agape and screaming soundless lyrics to the words that ran down the walls like blood. Blood? There was so much blood, always blood seeping from the bullet holes in the walls and rippling around her feet with the faces of all those they’d killed contorting and crying and then they’d gone.

Thetis’ head jolted upright as she walked to the base of the stairs, though not without the snakes curling around her legs and pulling her to the ground, not without the arms of the figures from the walls caressing her neck, not without the dancers on the ceiling beckoning for her to join them, because that’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? To forget it all? Yes, yes, she wanted that, wanted that more than anything, and as her hand reached towards theirs, they fell, twisting as their limp bodies fell with a splash into the pool of dancing blood below – and Thetis screamed - before they all stood to their feet, necks broken and arms lifeless as they stared at her with glazed eyes and silvery hair floating to the ceiling as if they were drowning. She backed away from the banister. Then the blood smears on her face began to peel. Yellow eyes widened in the darkness as she shouted for Idris, Terra, Emma, anybody to help her, to save her from – she felt a pair of hands touching her neck and shoulder.

“Sweetie, where did you run off to?”

Thetis turned to catch a glimpse of the face she’d longed to see for years.


Except it was all wrong. The woman’s hair was wispy, full of greys and reds and whites, her bony hands held Thetis in a vice-like grip as her macabre open-mouthed smile spread into a gaping wail, cheeks gaunt and eyes sunken and black, black like Kerr’s. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, the girl kept mouthing as her eyes filled with tears and she reached to touch her mother’s face. The kind voice Thetis once dreamt about had turned into a piercing screech.

“Where were you? Where were you?”

And as the mouth stretched wider and wider, the figure turned to sinew and flesh, screaming and writhing in agony as it twisted against its bonds to the wall. Thetis couldn’t see the others anymore, and her screams were lost to the synthetic beats of the club. Terrified, she turned to run, only to stumble into someone and fall clumsily down the few stairs she had managed to climb. Thetis winced and propped herself up on her elbows. It was just a dream, wasn’t it? The banshee women on the dance floor were still staring at her, with eyes that felt like they saw through Lucy Adams, through #006 and to Thetis Alcesteos. She couldn’t stop staring at them, as though if she looked away, she would lose herself, she would cease to exist. The prototype felt herself being hauled to her feet by a pair of strong armed men behind her.

“#006, how many times must you fail?"

She could never forget that voice. Thetis looked up into Dr. Perkins’ face with horrified disbelief as it began to flake away into a face that was all too familiar.

“You know what happens to failed Prototypes,”

Thetis didn’t want to look, and she clamped her eyes shut as she pushed past the doppelganger and back up the stairs. As soon as she made contact, Dr. Perkins’ body seemed to melt and meld itself onto hers, and she felt a hand gripping onto her wrist as she tried to pull away.

“Why were you scared? Why didn't you come with me?”

The ghostly hand spun her around , and Thetis found herself face to face with Ariel. Her flesh was falling off her cheeks, one of her eyes a gaping socket, while the other had rolled up into her skull. Her skin was rotting, and her hair seemed to be rapidly going white as blood dribbled from the bullet hole in her chest.


Thetis stuttered and shook her head. There were no words to say. It was her fault, all her fault. She felt like she was going to be sick. Even when she tried to look away, Thetis could still see the faces in the floor, her mother in the wall, bodies strewn across the bar like they were part of some kind of picnic. Tears in her eyes, Thetis ran away. She tripped over her feet as she sprinted up the shifting stairs; Away from the women on the dance floor. Away from Dr. Perkins. Away from Ariel. Away from her mother. Within seconds, Thetis fell into a pitch black room that reduced her to silence. Panic set in as the rhythm of the club disappeared. She couldn’t hear anything apart from her ragged breaths as her chest heaved up and down, nor could she see a thing. Perhaps the worst thing was that Thetis couldn’t sense her friends anymore. Taking a deep breath and blinking the tears from her eyes, Thetis clenched her fists and took a step forward into the darkness.
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Old 04/13/2010   #50

“Thank you”

Today had been full of foreign feelings and emotions, Kerr had thought to himself. It had been weeks since he had ever properly been tested in battle, months since he had seen anybody from the original Violan facility, years since he had been forced to have any sort of meaningful human interaction with another living being. Yet in the space of a few hours, his mind had been subjected to a seemingly endless barrage of the strange and unwanted sensations of alien emotions. The raw hatred he had felt for his own failings on the battlefield that had led to his out of character sniping at his blue haired companion when she’d woken up, the unnatural compulsion to stay with this rag-tag group of individuals because of the uncertainty he felt in his own survival without them. Now this.

Thank you. Seriously? Thank me for what? Warning you about stuff you should know already?

No. The inital stab of anger that followed his utter surprise wasn’t directed towards Idris. The realization hit him within seconds, the anger was directed at himself. Why the hell was he doing things worth thanking? Was it for survival? That seemed to be the rational response. The more they looked out for each other against hostile outsiders and unknown variables like this Stolz kid, or what apparently turned out to be a giant blue leopard, then the safer he was.

Right? The rational part of his brain had kept him alive all these years, and had very rarely steered him wrong. What was the point in doubting it now. Sadly, asking oneself what was the point in doubting these things has rarely been considered a cure for removing those doubts in the first place.

His train of thought was interrupted by the slight buzzing noise echoing in his brain. Mild and harmless, but extremely irritating.

“Hey Kerr!” his head jerked upwards towards the front of the group, noticing the advance of a furious redhead in his direction. As the rest of the group trudged on after the glowing beast in front a furious looking Emma bore down on him, her freckled cheeks nearly as red as her hair, and the frown on her face managing to uncannily resemble Thetis’s own.

“Hey Kerr! What is Thetis talking about when she says this is all your fault?
” This was the part that was hardly a surprise, Thetis and Emma had always been reasonably close as far as prototype super-weapons could be.

Resisting the urge to tell her that if Thetis had just died, then none of them would be in this situation, Kerr bit his tounge and furrowed his brow. Hoping that just staring blankly at the opposition would make her back down, at least for now. He was tired and sore, and definitely not in the mood to be dealing with another irate Destrillian.

“When we get out of here later we ARE talking about this!”
she warned.

Luckily he was saved from a conversation that he was unlikely to get away from unharmed by Emma’s sudden focus onto other things. The other things in question being what appeared to be the entrance to a seedy nightclub. Kerr was not surprised, there were quite a few establishments like this in the sewers, dark and dangerous. Controlled by the gangs and warlords that fell outside of the control of the security forces on the surface, once you were below the city’s surface this was their turf and experience had taught the dark-eyed Destrillian that the gangs did not take kindly to outsiders wandering blindly through their domain.

The neon light that bathed the entrance to the club was grotesque, bathing the travellers in an aura of lime green and bubblegum pink, and the smell eminating from inside the club was equally stomach turning. The scent of violence, sugarcoated with dirty liqueurs.

Two stumbling men had fallen out of the club, typical gang types, Kerr noted. Matching gang tattoos on their arms, shaved heads and dirty clothes. He had run into plenty of this sort before whilst hiding out in Osea’s sewer systems, and had killed plenty of them too. The gangs tended to be more of a nuisance than a threat, but this didn’t seem right. It was not normal, that much was apparent right from the get go. The air coming from inside was heavy and sticky, catching in his throat and in his lungs.

And then there was blood on his shoes.

Kerr blinked, not quite sure if he could believe the way in which the glowing beast that was travelling alongside them had murdered the two drunken braggarts in front of him. It had been superhumanly fast. If it hadn’t been for his enhanced Destrillian vision then he would have missed it, it had probably been too fast for the average human eye to follow.

Come to think of it, why was he blindly and unquestioningly following the lead of a shimmering blue creature that looked nothing like any animal he had ever seen before.

His head hurt.

He wasn’t sure it had anything to do with the battle he had just been fighting.

“Don’t worry, we’ll clean up the mess. Mistress is waiting, and from what I heard it’s taking you a little longer than she liked.”

The words were addressed to the group, but Kerr barely heard them, he was barely listening. Something was very, very wrong and all his senses were screaming at him to resist. The same senses that had casually suggested that something was wrong about Stolz now told him that stepping foot inside this place would be a terribly ill thought out move. The feeling of powerlessness was maddening, but he couldn’t help but place one foot in front another as he followed the group through the door into the nightclub.

Although Kerr was perfectly familiar with these establishments in the sewers, this was the very first time that he had ever actually set foot inside one. It took his addled brain under a minute to remind him why, the assault on all of his senses was overwhelming. Every sense of caution and every dread of powerlessness he had felt outside of the club was magnified a hundred fold once he had stepped inside the threshold of the venue. He became barely even aware of the other Destrillians anymore, not even on the psychic level, but physically too. His vision was overcome by fog that rapidly changed colour to refract the changing strobe lighting. The other Destrillians in his group became little more than shadows to his vision as they made their way through the club.

The urge to yell at them all to stay close and stay together bottled up inside his throat and lodged there like broken glass, pressed up against the intoxicating sweet smell of the fog which had seemed to invade his mouth and seep down his throat. It felt like he wanted to cough, but his throat seemed numb. Everything seemed numb, he just kept walking forward, following the others. This was the closest thing to terror he had experienced in many, many years. He felt as though veil after veil had been cast down over his vision and that puppet strings were ones operating his limbs and binding his lips together.

He knew that there were other people in the club, dancers writhing to the beat of some primal bassline. But he couldn’t bring himself to look at them, to truly see them. The seemed to exist as ghosts, haunting the periphery of his vision, translucent and colourless, everything seemed to become colourless now. A haunting monotone, a dreary background image, even the other Destrillians seemed to become less noticeable. They shimmered slightly, rather than be the dull monotone that everything else had faded into. The others shone, barely. Like light reflecting from the surface of water.

Everything was not as black and white as Kerr had originally thought, no, not when you really saw it. The shimmering whites and greys were really red. Had they always been red? What was going on? He couldn’t even be sure of his own judgement. His own memory.

The red didn’t even appear to be red at all either, everything was just coated in blood. Everyone and everything. The Destrillians were moving through a slaughterhouse, even the dancers seemed to be unaware of it. Kerr turned sharply, the panic finally overcoming the assault on his senses and forcing a reaction from his body. It had been the very first time he had actually looked at the dancers, at who they really were. Corpses. Lifeless and shambling, dancing to the music that seemed more and more like screams with every passing moment. They were skinless and rotting, macabre and bloody. Exposed bone and muscle tissue dripping red with fresh blood to mix with the already knee deep blood on the floor. If the other Destrillians had noticed then they certainly wern’t reacting normally, Kerr thought, each seemed to be reacting differently. This couldn’t be real, he told himself. There was no way that this could be real. But that did not make the panic any less real.

They had obviously been filled to the gills with some manner of hallucinogenic or psychotropic drugs. Something designed to induce panic, make them see things that weren’t really there. Something to play to their fears and their was the only thing that made sense.

The dancers weren’t even walking cadavers. Now that they had begun to surround him he noticed for the first time that they appeared to be rotting in reverse. Stretches of skin painfully stretched over muscle tissue, whisps of colourless hair sprouted from their head. Bloodshot and violet eyes grew from nothingness inside bloody, gaping sockets. All the while the dancer was painfully and agonizingly screaming, every one of them was screaming. The music was nothing but an endless succession of screams. Yet Kerr could not help but feel strangely detached, blood and corpses and screams could not frighten him. He had lived through most of those things for as long as he could remember, his subconscious was telling him something else.

He could not even see the walls or the ceiling anymore, but he could tell that they were covered in warm fresh blood. The smell, even from the shadows was unmistakeable. Everything seemed drenched in shadow with the exception of a small radius around himself and the dancing corpses. Corpse? Suddenly there was only one. Much faster and much more subtle than any eye could have ever picked up, Destrillian, human, or something else. The dancers surrounding him had all blurred into one single form and to Kerr it felt like there had only ever been one of them all along, layers of skin began to stretch over what was unmistakeably a female form. Dressing it in flesh and crowning it with ever darkening hair, the dancer had stopped dancing as the long dark hair fell over her fringe to mask her eyes. Another illusion inside an illusion.

If the floor was covered in blood then Kerr no longer felt it, his gaze solely fixed on the woman who had formed in front of him. For the second time in ten minutes he felt the breath catch in his throat, rendered powerless again by the sight of her. It no longer smelled like blood. Or even remotely like the club. He was back in the corridors of Basement Five, the same musky smell of Viola, sterile but at the same time unclean. The club no longer looked like the club, it seemed narrow and familiar, and there was nobody else present, nobody else at all. No Destrillians, no dancers, no drunken gang members. It was only himself and...

“Ariel?” the word came out as a whisper.

The screaming had stopped.

The silence was much more agonizing.

Her eyes were hidden, and she seemed taller and older than he remembered. Older too. His subconscious making her own age match his own. Her eyes were barely visible beneath her choppy fringe, but there was no denying her identity. Even the confident smirk on her face was exactly the way he had remembered.

She gestured to her abdomen. To the bullet hole, a perfect little black circle. A brand of his betrayal that had torn clean through her body. Words failed him.

“You deserve to join me”
she whispered. Her voice was not angry, nor was it high or cold as he had expected from the one he had betrayed. She sounded so emotionless. Was she right? Kerr couldn’t speak up. Did he really deserve to join her amongst the ranks of the dead? He felt his knees weaken at the thought; the eleventh prototype has rarely spared the time to consider what he deserved.

Then he was back, the corridors of his nostalgia seemed to bleed away, back into the nightclub. He felt a deep pang of guilt for not speaking up to Ariel when he had the chance. Speak up to your own hallucination? Don’t be such a fool.

“Mistress is waiting”

He briefly caught sight of the other Destrillians, wide-eyed and shell-shocked. Had all their hallucinations been as vivid as his? He mopped the cold sweat from his forehead just as everything around him went black, devoured by a vast and infinite darkness.


The figure had watched the group stagger and blunder through the nightclub, staggering as though drunk and looking terrified at things that didn’t exist. These Destrillians truly were infants, the unknown figure mused, whenever they were confronted with things that defied their comprehension. In spite of all the power they wielded, they were reduced to nothing more than children living in a world for adults. Helpless and leaderless.

The observer grinned slyly beneath the heavy hood that shadowed the unknown face beneath it. Placing the cell phone from the table and pocketing it inside the coat pocket, the unknown figure returned to the vicious cocktail of brightly coloured alcohol before it.

There was nothing left to do but wait.

And watch.

Last edited by Alex; 04/13/2010 at 11:03 AM.
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Old 04/17/2010   #51


Early studied his face in the bathroom mirror and then glanced at the grey water in the basin. Barely a week since his last shave and wash, and that muck had built up. While his van was solid enough, what clean water it could provide he saved for drinking water. He felt grateful to Smythe for allowing him to use the bathroom of this hut to freshen up.

Early grabbed his tee from the side, and walked out of the bathroom to Smythe’s “office”, pulling the tee on as he went. Smythe had rented out a building the opposite side of this little town to his house for any old business that might crop up. Early thought back to the personnel file he had been given. He was pretty sure the old man was married, or had been.

“How’s your wife?” he asked, as he walked up to Smythe. The older man tensed before replying.

“She’s good, thank you,” he said.

“Either of you miss your old home?” Early asked.

Smythe shook his head. “There’s nothing left there for us. Even before the conflict started, I was the only surviving member of my family. And my wife… my wife was from Hephaestus.”

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Early said. Hephaestus had been the seat of the Damascan government, until it simply vanished one day. As it had also been home to the largest Volsung facility in the country, most people believed it was one of their experiments gone wrong.

“Hmm, you sound sincere enough, so thank you. If you can fake that, then rot in Hell,” Smythe said. “Now… I assume that as Hartnell sent you to see me, your job has something to do with the Animus.”

“Bio-engineering super-soldiers is bloody stupid work at the best of times, but starting from the womb? With non-human DNA?”

“Damascus needed warriors. Genetic engineering is a part of everyday life, and has been--”

“Spare me the sermon. My first job was hunting a genetically engineered pyrokinetic. The bastard turned three towns and a dozen villages into molten pits before I blew his head off. He had no control of his powers, and from what I’ve read, that’s the same problem with the Animus,” Early said.

Smythe grimaced slightly. “The Animus… originally had no control. As there is only so much that can be hushed up, I would believe they now have some self-control. Otherwise we would have heard about such grisly remains.”

“There was an Animus in Chulainn Hub, the province capital. The press and police were convinced it was a human serial-killer,” Early smiled. It held little humour. “When folks decide to fool themselves, those in the know tend to let ‘em.”

“So… I take it you know about that night. You also, presumably, know about the Hunger. What do you need an old man like me for?” Smythe asked. Something that could have been anger or could have been distaste glittered in his eyes.

“Doctor Hartnell gave me… a load of crap, to be honest. My security clearance is so low, he couldn’t give me much else. But yeah, I know about the night they escaped. I’ve been warned about the Hunger by one of the loyal Animus, so I guess she knew what she was talking about,” Early nodded. “But we - that is, they, your old bosses - think that a few Animus have crossed into Artolia.”

Smythe drew a sharp intake of breath, and rubbed his chin. “Dear gods… I, I mean, it was obvious some might leave Damascus, but…” Smythe appeared to gather his thoughts. “No. I think I know what you want to hear, but I’m afraid - ha, no, glad - I haven’t heard or seen any signs of an Animus in Artolia.”

Early nodded. That had been the thinking behind it - if there was an Animus making a nuisance of itself, one of the twelve surviving scientists involved would recognise the signs.

“OK. I doubt one could hide itself in a little place like this, anyway. What about cities? The capital’s called Osea, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Smythe said. “It’s about the only city large enough in Artolia that could cover the rampage of an Animus in the throws of the Hunger under the usual crimes humanity commits.” He paused. “Well, there is one other… Vanaheimr.”

“I’ve heard of that place somewhere…” Early said. “Might be worth checking out.”

“Vanaheimr is home to IRIN International,” Smythe said. “If an Animus rampaged there, I expect they would have captured or killed it themselves.”

“IRIN, huh?” Early said, and made a low whistle.

“You know of them?”

Early nodded. A few of the factions in Damascus made good use of IRIN tech, whether they bought it themselves or stole it off of another faction. Compared to some of the Volsung tech still in use after twenty years or so service, the IRIN stuff was hard to blow up in Early’s experience. The only other equipment that came close to that was the higher tier Volsung and Viola war-gear.

Smythe appeared to pause. “Of course… I expect you have heard…things…about the Destrillians,” he said.

“I’ve heard the name,” Early said. “Supposedly, Viola was involved in super-solider work before they went bust. And it was the Destrillians that helped them go bust somehow.”

Smythe glanced at him. “You seem pretty calm at the prospect. I would have thought, considering what you’ve told me, that the prospect of individuals with elemental powers would disturb you,” he said.

Early scowled. “I’ve heard rumours about…those things, too. You mean that’s what the Destrillians supposedly are?”

“Not supposedly, are,” Smythe said. “A stranger came into town three years back, terrified and near death. I was the nearest thing to a medical man here at the time. While I was caring for him, he recognised the Volsung logo on some of my kit, and we got talking. He claimed to be a former Viola scientist, and when he slept, he woke up screaming. Supposedly, because of dreams about the Destrillians, and a man called Vargas. Within a few weeks of him arriving, a group of IRIN soldiers came into town, and…” Smythe shrugged. “We couldn’t afford a fuss.”

That irked Early at a primal level. He didn’t put much stock in honour and fair play, but just giving up a wounded man to those he was mortally terrified of seemed wrong. But something in the story had sent a memo to his memory.

“There’s a Vargas in charge of IRIN…” he said slowly.

“Yes,” Smythe said. “I think you’re better off steering clear of Vanaheimr.” He snorted. “You understand, I really just want to be left alone now. And if you get killed, Volsung will be sure to hassle me some more.”

“You’re all heart,” Early said.
I work all day and I think all night
I break my body, but that's all right
Cos it'll take all my mind and all my might
To keep one step ahead of you
L.E. Modesitt, Jr wrote: Sometimes cynicism is the last refuge of the idealist.
As soon as you saw people as things to be measured, they didn't measure up.
You think water moves fast? You should see ice. It moves like it has a mind. Like it knows it killed the world once and got a taste for murder.
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Old 04/20/2010   #52
Sheva Alomar

“You dumb cunt, get back here!”

“You’re the only dumb cunts around here for bothering to chase me down.”

Fiona chuckled under her breath as she ran down a long stretch of a neglected alley way. This was one of the rare nights that the fire destrillian dabbled in the decrepit crime rings of the Orange Zone—and of course it went awry. A simple gambling night hosted by the notorious Don Fabrizio. Naturally, nothing was ‘simple’ when it involved one of, if not the, biggest crime syndicates in the area.

Out of curiosity only someone as wild as Fiona would harbor, she wandered into the abandoned office building where the games were to be played after being invited by a couple of goons plucking fodder from the masses unfortunately stuck in the Orange Zone. The #004 prototype was, no doubt, a unique specimen for rounding up for such an event. An interesting victim—let alone a female! If only the poor saps knew what they were in for.

Poker was the popular game of choice, which was luckily a card game the fire destrillian had picked up in her four years of squandering the streets of Osea. Cash only, and the #004 prototype had just so happened to come into some money that day.

It hadn’t even been an hour into playing, when a small-time criminal by the name of Jackal Roterio playing at Fiona’s table said something. Right in the middle of a hand while the river card was being drawn, he met with his eyes with hers and abruptly slammed the old card table with both fists.

“At first, I thought it was pure luck that this broad was picking away at our earnings, but now it’s the goddamn 15th hand and this bitch has yet to fold or even lose to any of us!”

He jabbed his heavily jeweled finger at the girl with fiery hair sitting so relaxed at one end of the table.

“You’ve fixed this game! Somehow, you’ve fixed this fucking game and I’ll crack your head open if I have to, to find out how! Boys, I want you two to escort this dyke to the back and ask her nicely about her little scheme. Maybe I’ll let her come back and play next to me if she complies.”

Smirking with his half-gold grin, he handed one of the two grunts he spoke to a hand pistol. Silently, the duo stood up and slowly approached Fiona from both sides. Her feet had been propped up on the table during that time and continued to keep them that way as she coolly rocked back and forth, waiting. Of course she had rigged the game, just not as he expected. With the psychic and telepathic abilities granted to all of her kind, she readily used them in cheap thrills such as this. Fiona laughed to herself in these types of situations. She knew they all ended the same way and this time would be no different. Just as their hands crept to the fire destrillian’s shoulders, she made her move.


Swiftly sliding her legs just beneath the poker table, she flipped it over, knocking the rest of her company to fall backwards and over one another. Standing up Fiona bent her arms so her elbows were out and jabbed the two men on either side of her in the chests, then bringing her clenched fists up to break their noses.

“I think this is my cue, assholes! See you in hell!”

With one sweep of her arm she collected a large pile of bills that were still wrapped in neat stacks to her immediate right and bolted for the exit. The rest of the men there had little time to react to all of this going on. One found the breath to shout out “After her!”, but that was all, given that this sudden shift occurred in all of 10 seconds.

As Fiona made her escape towards the stairwell at the far end of the large, stale room, the men fast enough whipped out their guns and began to open fire. With her superior speed, the gangsters had but seconds to even hit her—not that, that was even possible. Leaping down two flights of stairs, the fire destrillian legged it quickly through the double doors out into the street. She could hear the multiple grunts clamoring and fumbling over the next guy to catch her and take her out. THAT would never happen. Continuing her run around the corner of the next street, she ran past a purse vendor with his bags spread out over a table. Without stopping, Fiona helped herself to one and shoved all of the money she had just ripped from the goons at the poker match.

“You’re too kind, old man!”

Her sarcasm was far too sharp for her own good, especially when she was excited by a group of dumb criminals who had no idea just what she was. Before the poor vendor could even object to her stealing, several cohorts from the gambling night were in pursuit of her and ran right over him.

Rounding another corner down a small side street, barricaded on either side, Fiona couldn’t have asked for a better escape. A translucent jug labeled ‘GAS’ was sitting in front of a run-down repair store. Stopping with plenty of space between her and her pursuers, she kicked over the large container and watched as the liquid slithered across and down the street in a number of directions. Jogging backwards to keep an eye on the gasoline and the goons chasing her, she casually waved her arm in front of her, setting the liquid ablaze and watching as it rose to the sky. It left a perfect wall of flame between her and them, letting her run off without worry. Even if some of the men were stupid enough to try to follow her even after that, she would know and would only leave corpses after that. The grunts, no doubt, remained on the opposite side of the firewall and could only shoot blindly at a target they could and would never hit.


So hear she was, Fiona Myrwind, self-liberated destrillian prototype #004 in all of her glory—what glory she could salvage living in a dump like the Orange Zone. Living life no normal human ever would. She refused to. Unlike her roommate, Thetis, #004 would never succumb to “trying to fit in” or “keeping a low profile”. With her appearance, she especially couldn’t pull that trick off. Even as she walked down the street now, most of those who passed her by on her way to her current residence would stop and stare for at least a few seconds. Her bright hair and outlandish clothing were certainly a combination that only a handful that had ever really seen before. That handful tended to be the people that lived near her.

After walking another hour or so, finally arriving to the apartment building where she lived, Fiona made her way up the several flights of stairs to her dwelling. She could sense the old woman waiting quietly waiting for her, but begrudgingly allowed her to think she was catching the destrillian by surprise.

“Ah good, the other one decided to show up. Is that a new purse you’re sporting, Miss Myrwind?”

Slowly, #004 turned to face the sour woman, her countenance ready to turn into a snarl at a moment’s notice.

“What of it, hag?”

“Well, you inconsiderate…girl...y-your rent is due! You certainly shouldn’t go around buying new things for yourse--!”

“Would you shut it already?! I can’t stand listening to you!”

Blindly reaching into the bag around her shoulder, Fiona grabbed a handful of money and shoved it at the landlady.

“This should keep your trap shut and you out of our business for a while. Now go back to your hole so I can have some quiet over here.”

Before the fire destrillian could register the twisted look of horror, anger and disgust on Ms. Petrowski’s face, Fiona opened and slammed her apartment door shut. She whispered under her breath.

“Fucking humans.”

Now having the time to catch her breath, #004 took the bag to the shared bedroom and sat on the bare mattress there. Pouring the contents out, Fiona had a satisfied look on her face. The stacks she had taken were hundreds—most likely a private reserve that no one bothered to see was under the table. It really was her lucky day. A couple of months had gone by since the fire prototype was able to get her hands on some good money, let alone a small fortune. This was going to come in handy.

Shoving the cash back into the bag, with a few hundred dollar bills saved in her pocket for her next venture, Fiona threw it all under the mattress. Returning to the living area of the dirty apartment, #004 kicked her way through the garbage littering the floor to the small note left by her only roommate. She almost couldn’t read the horrible hand-writing, but managed to sound it all out.

“Please… buy… s-some… milk.”

There was a pause as she stared at the scrawl with a strange expression.

“Is she serious?”

Dismissing the note without thought, the fire destrillian flung the scrap on the floor with the rest of the junk.

Fiona was celebrating her victory tonight and in a fashion she rarely had an opportunity to do it in: getting wasted. Drinking and getting high were things Fiona was never exposed to before escaping Viola, unless you accounted for the large doses of distrum and other unconventional drugs specially made for destrillians. No, this was a new experience for her when she discovered it—and she certain enjoyed it when she could. There was a place she had heard of the last time she went to a local bar, they called it The Mirage and made it up to be a wonderfully grandiose experience that had everything you could ever want out of a nightclub. The group discussing The Mirage also mentioned how to get there and Fiona easily navigated to just the place. Hell of a time getting there considering she has to sift through the sewers, but she made it with ease all the same. When she entered, it was more than even what she expected.

As soon as the fire prototype walked through the door, all of her senses were assaulted by blood, sex and everything in between. Bright colors contrasted with the dark atmosphere and an earth-shaking bass attacked her eyes and ears. Still, Fiona gladly made her way to a seating area full of lush couches and other people.

She spent the next few hours drinking, smoking and eating multi-colored foods that tasted very different from what she was used to. A crowd also began to form in her area, everyone talking with everyone else. In her drunk and high state, Fiona melded into the crowd—having small talk with some of the more attractive people around her, mutually interested. #004 kept drinking and taking in drugs: body shots off of strangers and doing lines of substances she had never heard of. The music became low hums and the room, a haze. The fire destrillian was completely immersed in her environment. That’s when the vision started to come.


“Lighten up a bit will you? I can’t be the only one you actually talk to around here. One day you might actually have to depend on the other guys, you know? I may not always be around. Fiona, are you listening?”

“Yeah, Ariel.”

“Good, because you being a little nicer wouldn’t hurt and could certainly help you in the long run.”

“I can’t talk to them.”

“And why not, exactly?”

“Because they’re not you, damn it!”

“What’s so special about me?”

It was a conversation that occurred often between the prototypes of sound and fire. Ariel was the only one of her kind that Fiona would be civil with. It was that charm that she retained when dealing with anyone that held #004’s interest. That, and Ariel always offered a warmth Fiona never had, without fail. The warmth the fire destrillian secretly yearned for…


The flashback left Fiona feeling empty. All of the alcohol and drugs she just took in were subdued by the fresh feeling of hollowness that engulfed her. What happened? Why did her life have to end up this way? Looking back, so many things could have turned out differently. Certainly, someone could have stopped Viola from taking her away. Just maybe…

The fire prototype hadn’t realized that she had removed herself from where she had been seated all this time. Before she knew it, she snapped her head up and caught the feeling of an ominous presence nearby. Fiona’s eyes caught a hooded figure in the corner and kept her inebriated sight there for a moment until a large man brutishly bumped into her. In the intoxicated state the destrillian was in, someone harshly bumping into her was hardly the sort of thing that should occur now. Combined with the still-fresh flashback and flood of emotions, a very sensitive trigger was set off in the back of #004’s mind.

She didn’t hear the apology; she didn’t see the concerned faces of the folks around her as she slowly balanced herself as best she could in her loose condition. Fiona could only feel rage. These poor souls were about to get a violent light show.

“This…is all…YOUR…FAULT! ARGH!!”

Nothing could stop her now. In one fluid motion she grabbed the large man’s skull and turned his body to melting flesh and bone. His eyes immediately turned to goo and puss and blood boiled and slowly traversed down what was once solid skin. The Blazing Fury was unleashed.

Screams echoed in throughout the nightclub as the customers started to come to their sense. The smell of burning flesh was a rude sobering scent. Fiona couldn’t hear them.


The furniture began to catch fire, the air became thinner, people began to fall to the floor and writhe in agony and even the temperature rose at an alarming rate. A small taste of hell, some would say. Everyone else was panicking; no one knew how to counteract this juggernaut of fire and death.

Fiona, the Blazing Fury, was going wreak havoc until this fresh wave of irrational rage diminished and no human could stop her.

Last edited by Sheva Alomar; 05/29/2010 at 03:33 PM.
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Old 04/20/2010   #53


There was an unusual amount of tension in the hall as many generals and other high ranking officers of IRIN's armed forces waited for Vargas to arrive. No doubt the sudden appearance of the Destrillians had the people in the room unnerved considering most of them were former members of Viola's Private army, and they knew all to well what Destrillians were capable of.

Sitting patiently at one of the seats in the room, Major General Krieg paid no attention to the other people around, or at least tried. A man came at sat himself on the corner of Kreig's desk and folded his arms waiting for the seated man to acknowledge him. This person's name was Reza Ali Sayyari, although here and everywhere else, he is known as 'Janus'.

After a solid minute of Silence, it was clear that Krieg was not going to say anything, so Janus finally spoke up.

"So I hear you used to work for Viola....that must mean you must know all about these 'Destrillian' things"

Krieg then looked up at Janus and bluntly replied. "Yes und no. Vhile I like a number of personnel here are former Violan staff, a majority of zhe information concerning zhe Destrillian project voz kept restricted to only zhe science department, so somevon such as myself had very little contact vith zhe accursed creatures." Then looked back down at the papers on the table infront of him.

"Eh? So then you know jack all about them?" Janus spoke in a surprised tone. The words were once again an interruption to Krieg who didn't even look up when giving his response.

"Not entirely, I know for a fact that zhese creatures are capable of great destruction, as ve have all seen from zhe reports of the current incident vith zhe Artolian military. To be simply put, zhey are unstable monsters, and zhe greatest mistake ever made by Viola during it's time." Krieg hadn't witnessed the actual massive breakout as he was in charge of the defense force of facility #2, however he had studied the footage from facility #1 and read all the reports Vargas had helped himself to during the collapse of the company. You could never be too prepared for the unexpected, and after so many failures of preventing escapes from facility #2, Krieg made sure that if these...things, ever emerged again he would ready.

"Hey, you gone deaf or something three eyes?" Janus interrupted his thoughts by making an idiotic jab at Krieg's monocle, which made him look up at the annoying man with a displeased expression, however before he could speak the room fell silent as the main doorway began to open.

The massive doors of the conference room slid open slowly, allowing light to pour into the hall from the walkway outside, making the doorway area appear as though it was glowing. Amongst the light, two figures confidently strode into the room - Seth Vargas and Maya Circe.
The sight made everyone in the hall move to their seats and await for the man in charge of IRIN to begin the meeting. Vargas moved to his spot, a large desk at the northern section of the Hall's circle of desks, which had two rows, with the back one elevated slightly higher. Circe took a seat at the desk on the right of Vargas', while the desk at the left remained empty due to General Sophalla being on active duty in Osea.

With all eyes fixed on him, the large monitor displays on the northern wall lit up with Vargas' image, still wearing his aviators in the dark room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's finally happened! Those misfits are back and within only an hour or so of resurfacing they managed to force the ASDF into retreat and lay waste to the surrounding come'on people, what the hell is this?!" Vargas echoed through the massive hall. Immediately the desk of Circe lit up and she added to the report.

"Additionally, the Artolian military command contracted General Sophalla who was on route back to Vanaheimr from military exercises, to deal with the problem. After arriving on scene the General ordered her Solde-class battleship's main particle cannon be fired on the target's location, after 10 minutes of minor delays the weapon made contact with the ground and incinerated everything within 2 blocks. However we have been unable to confirm if the targets were actually destroyed."

Vargas nodded a couple of times at the information and with his usual grin continued.

"So in other words we don't know if we even did anything, moreover according to eyewitness reports there were only 4 confirmed sightings of Destrillians and one pompous jackass in cosplay." He then hit a couple of buttons on the console built into his desk and on the screen multiple Bio images appeared. "Circe, if you would be so kind" Vargas motioned towards his right.

"Yes sir. From the data we've received off the Artolian military, we've been able to positively ID Destrillian Prototypes three, six, nine and eleven. Additionally an unknown individual dressed in some kind of unusual outfit was seen engaging the Artolian troops as well, however we are unable to confirm if this character is a Destrillian or not..."

After she finished, General Badrach, another former Violan, slammed his fist on the desks and exclaimed "Dammit, of all the bad luck, The gunmetal glint had to resurface!? Need I remind you all of what she did to Viola HQ? And from the footage we saw she was pulling Artolian VTOL's out of the air! How the hell are we supposed to counter that?!" And without any change of expression, Circe calmly replied.

"We have already implemented countermeasures for number nine's abilities, all our machines are equipped with EM shielding, causing a greater strain on someone such as Idris Savage attempting to directly affect the metal components of our weapons..." She then paused for a moment and added "...however it still doesn't prevent her from using metals from surrounding areas as projectiles, so pilot's will have to be on their toes and we'll require a major overhaul of the AI systems in all our automaton units to factor this in."

As the generals all talked amongst themselves about this information, Krieg finally decided to speak up to the assembly.

"Moving onto zhe more important question, vhat is zhe current status of all zhe escaped Destrillians? Can ve expect to see more of zhem appear now zhat a few of zhem have come out into zhe open?" To which Vargas gave a simple smile and shrugged before answering.

"Who know? We've had reports from all over the place of things that may or may not have been Destrillians, including ones where it was claimed the subjects were terminated. Of course it would be nice and convenient if they had all just moseyed over to the central continents and became their problem, however it seems we we're that lucky...." He then pushed his sunglasses up his nose and added "Now about your first inquiry, General Krieg, I think that calls for us to pull into the secretive goodness that is the Violan archives!" He then punched in some commands into his terminal and a few seconds later the main screen showed two windows, labeled #1 and #2, both with a list of names and photo's next to them. "Circe since we all just love the sound of your voice how about you do the honors again?"

"Of course..." She then turned in her seat towards the monitors and using an electronic pointer, enlarged the window entitled '#1'.

"This is a list of all Destrillians that were produced at Viola's main headquarters, known as facility #1."

"Originally, there were 27 failed attempts of creating a Destrillian prototype, all of the subjects perished. However finally the Violan scientists had success with Destrillian Prototype #001 - Sierra Alexis Lutraine. Her ability was that of light, which was mostly used to either light dark places, remove that light or blind opponents. Not the most impressive ability in my personal opinion, however she was the first to survive the process and demonstrate her abilities successfully. Reports suggest that she was the ringleader in the massive breakout of four years ago, however sometime when the Destrillians breached the main levels of Headquarters, she disappeared and has not been seen since."

"Next, Destrillian Prototype #002 - Erthys Connor-Guzman, the....Thunder Child. This one had the power of lightning, which despite sounding impressive, his power was rather unstable. During the escape he was seen with Prototype one, and disappeared around the same time. No sightings since."

Scrolling the screen down, the display next showed a young girl with dark green hair and matching eye colour. "Prototype #003 - Terra Michaels, who was codenamed 'Makeshift Golem' oddly enough. Not much to say about this one. Her power is Earth, to what extent her powers goes is unknown as this one had an issue with controlling her abilities..." Vargas then interrupted by adding.

"Didn't this one also have some kind of glasses fetish?"
To which Circe replied "Apparently so." Then continued.

"...During the escape of Viola, it's noted that she caused considerable damage to the basement levels of the building, effectively taking out the power for the levels which disabled the electronic locks used by most doors on the levels. After this event all drone units were pulled back and we lost track of Prototype Three. However she has been positively ID'd as being present at the recent Osea battle."

"Now onto Prototype #004......"
The room then fell silent. Everyone at some point had heard of this one, of #004...

"Fiona..." Vargas bluntly said. Although he had never cared to remember any of the names of the other Destrillians, 004, Fiona, was one who he remembered all too well. The day of the board meeting, when he viewed her so mercilessly immolate the squad of guards and tear out Dr. Fringe's heart with her bare hands, there was no other emotion he could've described as feeling that day other that sheer awe of her cruelty. Unlike the other Destrillians he knew Fiona enjoyed the killing, savoring every moment of the process. This girl was the harbinger of Death, and Vargas desired so much to meet this angel of destruction....but where was she...

"She manipulates fire which many of us have seen demonstrated and is god knows where now, move on." Vargas said, details on this one were unnecessary.

"Yes sir, now about Prototype #005, Ronin Maverick - Shadow Star. This one had the power of Darkness, apparently he could drain the life out living things."

"Really now?" Vargas said, clearly getting bored.

"Yes Sir." Circe replied. They then exchanged glances in silence for a few seconds before Vargas called out. "Next."

"Ahem, onto #006, Thetis Alcesteos - The Raging Charybdis..." To which again Vargas interrupted.

"The what?"

"The Raging Charybdis, her power is to manipulate water, however she was a rather timid one and there was little expectation from her. Although she was spotted as one of the four at the Osea battle, so perhaps the science department was wrong..." She didn't even pause for the next one.

"Prototype #007, Eydin Eckhart - The Wayward Gale. Ability was the manipulation of wind. Currently missing and whereabouts are unknown." She then instantly clicked the pointer, the Destrillians not sighted were of little interest at this point.

"Prototype #008, Emma Marie Johnson - Vacker Påsklilja." Circe then paused and looked at Vargas expecting an interruption, who simply looked back. She then continued. "This one was actually a sorry case according to Science department records. She had an ability to manipulate plants, which is not very impressive, so let's move on."

"Prototype #009....Idris Savage - The gunmetal glint. We've already spoken about her, and due to the high risk she poses despite our countermeasure systems, this Destrillian is our highest priority target. Extreme force is approved if any of our troops encounter her."

"Prototype #010, Eve Rosalind Daly - The Ice Queen."
Circe stopped there as she knew Vargas would say something, and he did.

"Ah Eve...lovely girl, almost had her on my side, until that arrogant jackass Roland ruined everything. Sadly the girl perished however she did do me the favor of eliminating Roland. Next please my dear!"

"Sir. Prototype #011, Kerr Nordstrom....Viola's lap dog. Has the power over gravity, and this one was spotted at the Osea incident. Our annalists suspect he might have been the one carrying out the horrendous acts of violence throughout Osea in the past. Consider him a priority target."

"And finally....Prototype #012, Ariel Regan. Her power was of sound, however she was terminated during an escape attempt at Viola, so of no concern anymore. That concludes Viola facility #1" She then brought up the second window with the pointer.

"As for facility #2, this one is hard to document, as most records seem to have been lost or destroyed. This facility had a track record of escapes, and after Viola collapsed the remaining Destrillians there simply vanished with no traces as to where they went. Additionally there were no signs of a mass breakout like at facility #1."

Everyone then began talking amongst themselves again and Circe sat back down at her desk. Vargas sat there silently, contemplating the situation. Shortly after he spoke up again to the assembly.

"Alright so there you have it everyone, we know what we're up against, so let's not embarrass ourselves like Viola did OK? We have the means to take these scientific rejects down, and additionally we shall roll out all prototypes that have passed their trial tests." He gestured to the desk to the right of him. "Circe and I shall be heading out to Osea shortly to assess the situation ourselves, anyone wishing to accompany us is most welcome to do so. As for everyone else, please proceed with regular operations, that cash flow isn't going to bring itself in after all..." He then stood up from his chair and added. "So with that meeting adjourned, and I bid you all goodnight." And headed for the main doorway, with Circe close behind him.

Still at his desk, Janus sat back in his chair and grinned. So Vargas is going Destrillian hunting...this could be my opportunity to take one down as I hear they would be very formidable opponents, and i just love a challenge.... He then let out a small laugh, to which Krieg simply gave him an unimpressed look and got up to leave.

Outside the room in the corridor, Vargas and Circe walked down the hall towards Vargas' office.

"Circe, be a dear and make the call for Solde-1 to be prepared for takeoff, we shall depart in a few hours. Also call the lab and have then ready Zwei and Drei for deployment, this might turn out to be a good occasion to give those fine ladies a proper field tests - after all nothing proves a new weapons better than actual combat." Then let out a slight chuckle.

"Yes Sir." Circe replied, then after a few seconds asked her superior. "What will you do if you find her?" To which Vargas simply smiled and said. "Somehow I doubt that will happen, however if it does....then I shall play it by ear."

Hey who wants to come home with me?!
Ok that wasn't very smart but totally worth it!
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Old 04/22/2010   #54

What happens to the Warrior who breaks his sword?

What happens to the Eagle that injures its wings?

What happens to the Destrillian who watches the murder of his own kind?

They find the strength to move on.
"I will find that strength, Even if it means murdering those responsible"

Lokka finished making calibrations to his PDA device before setting off. He had been shackled up in an abandoned apartment room for the last 4 days and had used his time here to pick up useful information about the mercenary group 'The Undying'. A high ranking member of the gang was the target of an Assassination attempt made by Lokka and his group a few weeks before. The reports leading up to the attack proved to be falsified in order to lure the group into a trap. Detryn Vita was the man they were after and he proved to be a lot harder to take down with roughly 400% more reinforcements than Lokka's group had expected.

The battle ended in the deaths of Lokka's teammates, Destrillian prototypes #015 and #018. Lokka fled the scene and took refuge in the darkest corners of the Orange Zone of Osea. Working under the alias 'Prism' during his time working in Osea, Lokka had become infamous and posed as a major threat to many of the crime syndicates in the local area, as well as some legitimate corporate business holders who were working out of the spotlight in shadowy affairs.

Tonight was going to be the night. Detryn Vita was holed up in a temporary headquarters for the gang with his boss known only as Banshee. The information was secret and classified but it was Prism's job to find out this kind of information. The Undying would be fools to assume that they're meeting was going to be exclusive to them, which is why they were heavily guarded by many of the gangs members aswell as some hired brute force to ensure the meeting would not be disturbed. Detryn was not Lokka's target however, and neither was the thugs boss. Lokka needed to know which of his contacts was working against him. Detryn may well be a scumbag, and his men may well have been the ones to fire on Lokka's team, but he did not set them up. Detryn would get the justice he deserved, but not before he parted ways with the name of his associate.

Lokka closed the door to the apartment, knowing he would not be returning here. On his person he was carrying 5 capsules of Distrum, secured through sources all over the city, as well as a high-calibur pistol with several ammunition clips and his PDA. He doubted he would need to use any of the items much but they were there as a security risk. Not that there would be much trouble. Lokka wasn't going to break through the front door and fight his way through a bunch of guards and give Detryn a chance to prepare or flee. He wasn't entering through Detryns personal quarters, the room adjacent to the meeting room. If there was any one thing that Lokka could do better than anyone else he knew, it was planning. He'd been studying the building's blueprints for the last few days and deduced the quickest way to extract the necessary information.

He walked out onto the street. His face was not known to his enemies and he intended to keep it that way. He produced a large bandana from his pocket and wrapped it around his face several times, only showing small parts of his body and leaving his bright green eyes uncovered.

"There it is"

He muttererd to himself as he saw the structure. Nobody knew quite what a building like this was doing down in the orange zone. From the outside it looked like a millionaires mansion that you'd see on the upper levels of the city. The bluprints revealed that the inside was open and barren. Lokka instantly recognized the bystanders outside the building as guards in disguise. Moving around the nearby building he proceeded to scale it using his powers as gripping points. Shining, white synthetic-looking barriers produced at the ends of his hands as he moved up the building. Pulling himself up on to the top of the small building he had a clear view of the room he was about to infiltrate. He was not out of the sight of the guards so he would need to time his jump correctly and minimize the time taken to get through the window.

"4 Guards: Centred position on west side, 2 to the east. None on Southern side. Window not open. Careful opening not an option, takes too long, guards would fire or raise alarm. Forced entry preferable, quieter than alarm or gunfire."

As Lokka contemplated the actions that took place he armed and readied his pistol.

"Guards talking. Opening."

Without hesitation Lokka ran and leapt off of his own building aimed directly at the window. Using a barrier as his landing Lokka quickly forced the window open, shattering the top panel. The guards outside the base would be too far away to hear the glass breaking without listening devices but the gang members in the meeting room would certainly have heard it. Lokka rushed to the door, forced it open and took a left down the hallway. The first door on the right, that was the room that the meeting took place. No doubt they were aware that someone would soon enter the room. The mercenarys would be lining up their shots on the door and be ready to fire. They will be confident.

Lokka brought out his pistol and activated his prime ability. He covered his body in a powerful barrier shield, invisible to the naked eye. The shield would not allow him to move much faster than a walk and but his pistol would take out any opposition before this became a problem. Knowing his limits Lokka forced the door open then and began analyzing the room.

'Two guards, Unknown, far right of the room. 1 guard, Detryn's bodyguard, room centre. Detryn Vita and stereotypical mobster, Left hand side. Detryn carrying Sub-machine gun, Mobster unarmed. Assume this as Undying leader'

Lokka took the time to analyze each of his enemies thoroughly as he entered, as they fired they're weapons without holding back. Confusion set in and Lokka seized the opportunity. He pulled up his pistol and spent 5 shots on the two guards on the right, turned and fired a shot into the centre guards neck. Two shots left. Lokka aimed his gun at Detryns kneecap and fired. Detryn went down with a cry. Lokka turned his attention to the mob boss.

"You. I have no reason to kill you, you pose no threat. What can you offer me in return for your life?"

The boss was clearly taken by surprise. He stuttered for a moment and looked down at Detryn. He was curled up on the floor screaming in agony and gripping his leg tightly. The wound in his knee had shattered a joint in the bone and had caused more damage than Lokka first expected. It didn't matter too much though, he wouldn't last long as it is. The boss turned around to face Lokka.

"Wh-What do you want with him?" He muttered looking back down at Detryn.

"That doesn't concern you"

"Fine. I know when to keep my mouth shut. What do you want from me then?"

"I assume your life is worth more to you than your pathetic excuse for a gang?"

The boss scowled lightly at the insult. "Yes"

"Then I require data on your group. If I know everything you know then I have no reason to keep you here"

"Here" The boss rifled through his pockets and produced a small memory key. "This has all of our bloody information on it, some of it heavily classified, will you just let me go?"

He threw the memory key to Lokka. Lokka caught it and lifted his left arm to reveal his PDA system attached to it. He inserted the memory key and the data opened up on the system.

"Credit Transactions, Private Funding, Member Files....This will be useful"

"Yes yes can I go? I need to get out of this god damn city!"

"You may leave once I get a name out of this guy". Lokka gestured toward Detryn with his gun. He slowly moved across the room and grabbed the piece of dirt by the scruff of the neck.

"You possess information that I require"

Detryn looked up, grunting as he did so. He looked Lokka right in the eye.

"What the fuck do you want?!"

"I need a name. Two weeks ago. Information was leaked to Prism about your whereabouts. Who was he?"

"I can't tell you that I'd be out of a job!"

"You wont be able to work very well with two broken kneecaps I bet"

"What?! You cant even count your own shots you assho-AGHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Lokka had fired a second shot into Detryn's leg. He'd wasted far too much time here tonight. He needed answers now.


"Michael Sayrs! He's part of Prism's network thats all I know!"

Lokka dropped the man. Michael. He had provided a lot of information to Prism when he was just starting out after leaving the viola facility. This man was responsible for most of Prism's reputation. Why would he betray him and for what price?

"C'mon man! I told you the goddamn name! Why do you need it so bad he's just a god damn information broker."

"He provided me with incorrect information"

"Wait...What? Your....your Prism?"

Lokka had heard all he needed to hear and needed to get out now. This man had to be found tonight before he heard about this.

"Yes, Thats me. Goodbye Detryn Vita"

Lokka bent down and picked up Detryns gun, placed it in his hand and pulled his own arm to fire through his throat.


The round went off and the criminal got what he deserved. Lokka turned to face the frightened Boss. "Get out of here"

The man ran and would likely alert the guards still positioned around the building. It didn't matter, 'Prism' would be long gone. He bent down and picked up Detryn's UI chip which was inside his telecommunications system. This would be all he needed. Lokka continued through the building and exited out of the southern side on the second floor, the side which was unguarded in the earlier survey.

He vanished out into the streets and removed his Bandana. As he moved he injected himself with a distrum capsule and released his shield. Michael Sayrs would die tonight.

Lokka brought up his PDA and inserted the UI chip belonging to Detryn. He opened up the recent call logs that had light encryption on them. He configured the calls with his own PDA and within minutes replicated Detryn's own voice from the chips history. Accessing the files he found Michael's User number. He found a safe alleyway and made the call.

"Michael its Detryn". The voice translator worked perfectly.

"What the fuck do you want? I'm already in way over my head for what I did the other week!"

"Hey asshole I'm covering your back! You need to meet my associate tonight so he can give you a new UI chip, the information on your old one has been compromised"

"Dammit! Okay but you better make it quick. I'll be at The Mirage in 10 minutes"

The call ended. The Mirage was a well-known nightclub in the area. Michael could be found, moved to a nearby alleyway and slaughtered. It would be seamless.
Lokka arrived at the nightclub at the meeting time. He lurked in the shadows for a while and watched the people in the club. He had no idea what Michael looked like but he'd spotted 3 males alone in the club neither drinking nor dancing. He could be any of these three people, or they could all be working for Michael, it was hard to tell. Lokka brought up his PDA and dialled Michael's number once more, this time looking carefully at the Men in the room. Only one reacted and brought out his phone and touched it to his ears. His lips moved in sync with the sound coming from Lokka's own device.


It was him. This was it. Justice in its purest form. This man would die and things would be corrected. Suddenly it begun. Complete chaos. Lokka had been soo focused on finding Michael that he hadn't even noticed the presence of a Destrillian. It was made clear to him however when flames begun to sprout up in the club, burning everything.

Lokka identified the woman that was doing this. I young girl that had attacked a bystander in the club and done serious damage to his face, no doubt killing him. The girl's glowing hair shone out red and orange in the flames purging the room.

Lokka didn't panic, he tried to re-locate Michael. Where was he?
Looking down he found the man he was looking for, lying on the floor with severe burns on his body, getting worse as the heat grew stronger. The man was no longer conscious and if he wasn't already dead he would be in seconds.

This...Revenge. It wasn't how Lokka had planned it. Not at all. Thinking logically he realised that his mission was over here but there were more pressing issues such as the destrillian.

Holding out a barrier around himself to ward out smoke or flames, Lokka moved through the crowd of slowly failing humans and approached the girl. Another Destrillian was here tonight and he needed her. The building was slowly collapsing around them so he needed to get them both to safety and out of the public eye. This was the kind of attention that he did not need.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.

"We need to get out of here"

Reject common sense to make the impossible possible!

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Old 04/24/2010   #55

No sooner than their eyes adjusted to the dim light near the door, the door swung shut behind them and threw them into darker darkness. A second later, the room instantly flooded with blinding light and writhing snakes on the floor, causing most of them to close their eyes, some of them to look away from the room that lay before them.

The walls were covered in naked human bodies, all drenched in what appeared to be the same liquid chocolate and wine but darker, thicker and even more viscous. Red and brown-black coated the room, giving it the appearance of a macabre lair of a wild beast. They did not move, although a continuous, deep groan rippled through the room. The bodies were in various states of dismemberment, but were surreal and were unlike any bodies in their last death throes the Destrillians had ever seen, more resembling freakish mannequins nestled deep within the trough of the uncanny valley.

At the far end of the room, the magnificent man-sized cat lay curled at the feet of a teenage girl, who sat on a red-leather throne, which contorted with the imprints of human faces, arms, legs, and torsos. She wore a simple, white billowing gown which reached her ankles as she sat, contrasting herself with the live, writhing bodily hell she sat in. Her face was made of plastic – or porcelain – and her eyes shifted colors from left to right iris. She spoke, her supposedly innocent voice like the honey hiding the bitter syrup underneath.

I find you in my fears
and in my fascination

“Why are you here?” Her voice came at them from all sides, from behind them, from above, from below, from inside them. “They tell me you came from out of the Orange Zone.”

“You tell us.”

The girl pouted, her eyes flashing between a cream color to pink and then hot red. “My lair, my rules. You know when you play in someone else’s house, you play their games.” She rested her chin on one of her arms propped up on an armrest. In an instant, she shifted out of focus, convulsing as in the space of seconds she grew into an adult woman, back curled as she continued to fuel the nightmare playing out in front of the Destrillian’s eyes.

“What the hell is this place…”
The woman on the throne lifted her head, noticeably the same, glistening porcelain skin glinting against the spotlights from above. “You’re not like the others…”
“We can’t really say the same thing about you.”
The woman shook her head, her eyes flashing blue to dark purple. “You didn’t come here by choice, you’re looking for something… something more human – human – than you…”

Paranoid and peaceful
Inside a sweet addiction

A couple of dismembered torsos detached itself from the ceiling and landed on the floor between the woman and the Destrillian party, splashing more redness over the snaking floor as they silently writhed on the spot. Unsure or not whether to attack it, they took a step backwards as the queen in the lair continued.

“I can help you with what you need… a sanctuary…” She spasmed again and on her chair she grew – her dress billowed outwards and her belly rose. Her motherly visage was only broken by the same, plastic complexion. “Somewhere safe, a sanctuaryAAAAAHHHHH-”

Most of them took another step backwards as they watched her lapse into another convulsing fit, most too bewildered to reply to very much. She tripped and fell over the beast curled at her feet, and clawed at the snakes on the floor as she continued to writhe on the ground with a scream that echoed and pierced through their heads in one continuous bellow.

Soft insanity and I can’t make it stop
Live hallucination within a dream

Eventually, there was silence as she collapsed into a heap. Then there was movement under her dress. Red bloomed across her belly as she began to crumble into ash and dust.
A child stood up from under the dress as it turned to liquid and reformed on the child’s body. The dust cleared as the red dress quickly returned to form-fitting proportions, as she seemed to phase in and out of existence, morphing from mere child to full-bodied adult. Finally, she stopped just as she was a few feet away from the group, standing amongst the crawling dismembered torsos, the air growing heavier and heavier around them as she stepped closer and closer.

Iara che respiro
Il mio cibo, cioche osservo
Magico se tu

“Long story short, I don’t know who you are. But in a moment, I will find out. And maybe some of you will too.” A red haze descended from the ceiling and floor and began to wrap itself around the Destrillian’s and the other’s bodies, as the woman’s voice manifested itself into a viscous honey-water fluid that pooled around their feet. “Start the dosage, prepare the pods.”

One by one, the group began to fall unconscious without knowing, until all who was left standing was Kram and Stolz. Through the near-opaque haze of red now completely surrounding them, the two half-realised what was happening, although by the time they had started to reach a conclusion, there were two neat sharp blows at the back of the head, and gentle but firm fingers gripped their necks and stabbed syringes into them, causing them to fall unconscious soon after.


Thetis didn’t know where she was when she woke up. She tried scanning her surroundings but soon realized she was lying down – floating on water, ignoring the wave of nausea that swept over her as she stood up.
The water was like glass and spanned out for as far as the eye could see. Her reflection flickered and died out on the water under her, and before she could call out for someone, anyone –

“So it’s you.”
The man standing a few feet behind her – it couldn’t be.

He was silent after his greeting, staring at her with eyes that seemed so empty and lifeless. He simply stared at her. He seemed to loom over her as he folded his arms and was immaculately dressed, hair combed neatly.
She reached out towards his face, and without warning, he pushed her away, a rough shove that caused her to trip and fall backwards. “Why did you?”

“You left. And you know what? I didn’t mind. You didn’t want to follow me. And that’s fine. But how could you do that to your mother? You abandoned us. It’s all your fault.”
It’s all your fault it’s all your fault it’s all your fault it’s all your fault it’s all your fault
Before Thetis could reply, a rough hand pulled her back on her feet from the scruff of her collar and as she struggled to pull herself away, she was backhanded across the face with a slap that burned her cheek. She fell onto grass, the wind grating across the fresh mark that the slap left. There were trees, looming over her in an enclosure, black and spiny with branches that seemed to reach downwards. And then the slight frame of a woman in a lab coat squatted down to meet Thetis’ eyes with a piercing, disapproving gaze that seemed to drill fear into her chest like a knife.

“You continue to fail yourself, Number Six.” Allison Perkins ignored anything Thetis might have said, and slapped her across the face again. She stood up, wiping her hand on the sleeve of her labcoat like one would have wiped their hands after killing a particularly bothersome mosquito. “You continue to fail everyone you know, and most importantly, you continue to fail me.”

At a shadow of resistance from Thetis, armored soldiers she didn’t notice were there before walked towards her, aiming their rifles at her as Dr Perkins drew out a syringe from her lab coat. “You’re not even human anymore. But you’re no better than one. You’re nothing. You think otherwise? Prove it.” She drew a penknife out with her other hand, twirling it on her fingers like an expert.
This wasn’t the Dr Perkins Number Six knew, but she was going to be the end of her anyway if she didn’t do something fast.


“Idris? Where are you? Idris? Where are you? Idris? Where are you?”

It was hot. The air around Idris shimmered like the atmosphere sitting on a searing summer road, but the more ice-cold the metal floor she was lying down on was. It was the heat that had woken her, and then the flame that licked at her toes. She looked around at the inferno raging about her, and a cold, dreaded sense of familiarity set in.
The floors used to be wooden floorboards, though…

“Idris!” The scream was faint, distant, choked back by the flames engulfing her bedroom, leaping up the curtains and sending thick plumes of black smoke out the windows as paint curled up and crackled, blistered and charred by the licking tongues of red and orange.

Suddenly, the ceiling caved in and soldiers followed suit, landing on their feet around her as she fully realized where she was and what was happening. The patches sewn on the sleeves of their arms fully set in the reality of what was happening.
They drew out stun batons, and circled her, the snap-crackle of electricity rising above even the stifling inferno the house was in. The windows were not a good exit, and by now flames were surrounding them as they circled around her, the door the only visible safe exit she could see.


The thicket of trees felt the same to Emma, even though they were different from those she had known before when she escaped. An inescapable feeling of freedom. A newfound awe of the silvery light beaming from a midnight sky and casting midnight shadows on the ground. The life pulsing around her swayed in the breeze, shedding leaves like hair onto the ground.

A wail pierced through the silence of nature and through her mind, and she instantly recognized the voice. She had been here before.
She had been in this situation before.

Emma tried shifting the trees, bending them to her will, but when she concentrated –
In fact, the trees seemed to close in on her, pushing and shoving her as they buckled and swayed to the wind that picked up into a gale.
Suddenly there were people all around her, trying to kill her, trying to plead with her, trying to reach out for help, and all were buffeted around and impossible to reach as she fought to gain control over the trees around her.
But there were only two cries of help that echoed in her mind, and both were the voices of two of the most important people that had ever entered her life. As several armored soldiers seemed to jump down from the trees, blocking her way, she knew what to do.


Terra yelped as a wildly flailing tree branch caught her across the legs and made her fall face-first into the dirt, which then surprised her because the pain in her fairly useless legs were gone.
In fact, as she stood up without too much effort, she knew something was different as soon as her legs failed to fail to support her body. Momentary surprise was replaced by momentary glee and then to momentary suspicion.
And she could feel it, despite the constant disturbing prodding of the tree branches making her jump.

Emma was close.
Thinking about it, she realized that she could think a lot better, and when she cleared her throat to talk out loud, she realized that her brain was connected to the rest of her body much better as well. She diverted her attention to her thoughts, and suddenly realized how they – how she had gotten here.
They had gotten here out of nowhere.

As another tree swung at her particularly uncomfortably, a pinprick of annoyance, a massive wave of dirt uprooted the tree and blasted its bottom half into splinters, leaving its remains to lie on the ground, squirming in what appeared to be pain.
She covered her face with her arms, expecting whatever incredible source of power that had done this to charge at her next, when she realized that she was the source of power that had exploded the tree, her simple careless gesture causing a deadly shockwave of lethal earth.

And she had barely noticed.

Suddenly, the trees morphed into screams and howls, of eerily familiar voices that threatened to rob Terra of what little newfound confidence there was.
A particularly thick branch swung at Terra, and swung at her hard.


Kerr woke to pitch-black darkness. For an irrational moment, he might as well have been blind. Eventually, eyes adjusting to the darkness moments later, he methodically retraced his steps, where he was, how he got here.

He was sitting in a leather chair, excessively extravagant. Fine-trimmed and clearly expensive, somewhat like one a business executive would have in his office. He deduced he obviously wasn’t in his comfort zone.

In front of him was a long table which stretched out into the darkness. Neat rows of laptops were closed in front of neat rows of other extravagant office chairs.
A board room.
Details played out in his head immediately afterwards: the room was relatively open-spaced, too open-spaced for his liking. The only protection afforded could be from the chair he was sitting in, the table impossible to upturn, any attack on him from a distance difficult to defend against. Any such self-defense would inevitably force him to use his powers, and considering his state –

A reassessment of his own condition cut him short. There were no aches in his bones or fatigue clouding his head like there was previously. He had no wounds that needed tending to or limbs that felt stiff.
The more Kerr thought about it the less he was sure of what ‘previously’ was. Details about some fight, a whole range of emotions ranging from shame, stinging embarrassment, smugness, apprehension to fear.
But his head was somewhere else entirely.
He would have to find his way out, try and pick up the details of where he exactly was and why he was here.

As Kerr stood up, floodlights shot torrents of light straight at Kerr’s face, the sudden light leaving marks before his eyes could adjust to them. He noticed a logo printed into the wood of the table as he turned away, and finally he knew where he was now.

“Number Eleven.”
He couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, but he knew the voice the moment it voiced his old name.
“It’s good to see you still doing Viola’s work. But you’ve been straying from the mark lately, Kerr.”
The spotlights moved with mechanical whirring, and Kerr deduced that they were actually security droids, their guns trained on him. The favored heavy guns of Viola, designed to take down even the most rebellious of their property.

“It’s reasonable to bide your time, Kerr, but you can only keep up the act for so long. Viola is not dead. It lives in you, Number Eleven, and as you are our property, you shall finish your orders to the letter. You can’t gain acceptance from anyone except us. You are a Destrillian, not a petty human living out a mundane life.”

The spotlights seemed to close in on him, laser sights from a line of soldiers behind them training onto his chest. “We can make it so all your guilt can vanish. Besides, Kerr, think about what really needs to be done. You know we can’t have dissenters in our ranks.”

Something felt very wrong, and as Malcolm Abaddon paused, the whirring spin of chain-guns could be heard.
“Just ask your friend Ariel.”


The hard concrete floor on Kramskov’s bare face was a rude awakening, much more so when he felt the chill all over the front of his body, penetrating through the shirt and pants he wore.
Looking around, the room he was in was bare except for a toilet and a bed that he had most likely rolled off from. The room was small, cubicle-like, and with the oddly-sized window placed at the uppermost part of the wall behind him, he may as well have been in a prison cell.

There was the sound of a klaxon in the distance, a familiar sense of danger and darkness. The cold gave Kramskov a runny nose, and the boy began to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.
It felt like he was missing something. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but there was a familiarity to where he was that he couldn’t shake.

The door in front of him was pulled of its hinges and thrown aside, and the klaxon sounds began to crescendo as dust from outside cleared. A man-sized robot with large metal muscles burst through the doorway, sweeping the room with a cone of fire that extended from his palm, yelling something about SUPER HENSHIN DRIVER FIRE FORCE SPLENDIDU and other incoherent rubbish. The roaring heat seemed to light up the room like an oven, but there was no way out aside from the doorway.


The voice pierced through his mind, even as sheer terror bled like sweat.
She was somewhere.
She was in trouble.
He had to find her, and to do this he had to get out of this horrible laboratory.


Nova grunted as he plucked the last of the fur off his meaty forearms. “So, uh, see anything you like, girl?”
Jettison remained silent for a moment as she adjusted the bulky headgear attached from her head to the monitor. “They’re fucked up.”

“Just ‘fucked up’? Come on, you knew that the first time you even saw ‘em. There’s more than that shit.”
Jettison chose not to reply. There was another gut feeling that replaced her reasoning skills which she couldn’t explain. She had no way of ‘recruiting’ them into the gang, they seemed far too independent and untameable for that.
Just like me.

But they could help her, regardless. There were things that even her entire gang combined could not face by themselves. As much as Jettison had prepared for her inevitable attack on the company and its science that had ruined her life, she knew that as a weapon she was not enough. Being a master of disguise and improvised combat could only take her and her gang so far.

And these people… they weren’t people. They were far more human than human. Aliens, living out their lives in mortal worlds. Even more so than herself.

“Oh, and hey – aren’t you gonna hook that kid up to some of that wacko-jacko shit?” Nova flicked his head in Stolz’s direction, who lay unconscious on a mattress in the corner of the room.

“We have other plans.”

Nova rolled his eyes. “Yeah, y’all need to do your thang with him, move yo master plan and all into fruition or someshit. I get it.” He cricked his neck as he turned to face the shadows at the back of the room, raising his eyebrows in curiosity. “But just how important is that kid to youse guys anyway?”
死の果までも追い掛けます、 探し出し

RIP in peace old sig lolol 04/2015

Don't believe your eyes? Don't be surprised.

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Old 05/04/2010   #56

The ash scorched at the back of his throat, causing him to choke. His brain was telling him what he ought to be smelling - charred flesh, wood smoke - but the flame was too hot to smell anything other than heat.

“Kara? Mom? Dad?” he cried. At first, there was no answer. And then, directly behind him…

“Sssssssss… burnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburn--”


The sound of a silenced gunshot jerked Early awake in a heartbeat. That damned nightmare again, -who fired that gun? Who was it fired at? Am I hit?-

Early smirked and tapped the butt of the pistol against his temple.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself. He always fell asleep with a gun in his hand, and every time he had that nightmare he always pulled the trigger in his sleep, always waking himself. A friggin good eject button, he had to say so himself.

He pulled himself into a sitting position on the couch in Smythe’s office. The doc had allowed him the use of the building for the night, on the understanding that before the morning was through, Early would be gone from town for good.

He hated that nightmare. It wasn’t how things had happened, but it captured everything Early had felt at the time, dialled up to eleven. By the time he’d returned home, the fire was long dead and the freak that had caused it was even longer gone.

…Not to mention that Kara had died the year before. Shit.

Early shook his head. He needed to focus on the job, not the past. Let’s see… First point of business: where next? There were no other former Volsung staff settled in Artolia that he knew of, which meant it was either Vanaheimr or Osea. He’d have to visit the capital sooner or later. So, was a detour to Vanaheimr worth it?

He knew Smythe was right - it was likely that any Animus that had been in Vanaheimr would have either moved along or been bagged and tagged by IRIN. But could there be any new arrivals there that he could catch… now there was a question worth asking. And the IRIN. Early knew a thing or two about organisations, and greasing the right palm could get you a few words off the record. On the other hand… approaching them in an official capacity might be worthwhile, too.

But; would an Animus go to Vanaheimr in the first place? Hmm…


“Is this safe?” he’d asked.

Doctor Hartnell nodded. “Of course it is. Nemesis works for Chulainn just as… hnn…
better than you do, Early.”

Early expected it was fact, although the senior scientist could just be showing pride in his work. Hartnell was somewhere in his sixties. Doubtlessly as a younger man he was quite tall, because now, even stooped with age, he was over five and half feet tall. His ash-white hair had receded up his forehead, leaving him with a widow’s peak. His white lab coat covered his body to his knees, where carefully creased trousers took over to the polished shoes.

“So, Nemesis… what do I need to know?”

“Nemesis is her identifier, hmm, see, at birth, each Animus was given a ‘code name’, which we call their identifier. However, when it seemed they were unlikely to see combat duty, they were also given more regular names. Nemesis is a Lykaon Animus -- you remember that term from your briefing I trust? -- and was one of the first to be repatriated after the mass escape.”

“You mean the Night of --?”

“I detest that name. The Animus are too cowed to know rage. No, it was the Hunger that caused it. Heh, gods know if I knew about the Hunger beforehand, I would have advised they be sedated more heavily.” Hartnell shook his head, perhaps in remorse.

“What can she tell me that you guys can’t?”

“The Animus think differently than you and I. This is in part due to simple genetics, in part due to their isolated rearing. And, of course, there is also the Hunger. Every single Animus we have interviewed since the escape, regardless of personality, has spoken of it.”

“Yeah,” Early said.

“Ah, of course. I had forgotten how you became aware of the Animus in the first place.” Hartnell paused. “If it makes a difference to you, most who have become aware of the Animus have had memory alteration work done on them, if not straight extermination.”

“Ain’t I lucky?” Early said, not trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Hartnell shot him a look, well aware of the tone. Early guessed that the old man had probably had people ‘exterminated’ for the Tone.

“Ah, here we are,” Hartnell said, obviously as glad to be out of Early’s company as Early was to be out of his. “This is the interview room Nemesis will be brought to in a short while. There are cameras, so we will know what passes between you, although--”

There was an audible clack as Hartnell closed his mouth so quickly his teeth bumped together. Early knew what the sound meant, as he’d made it a couple times himself. He was biting off an utterance he might regret later.

“Anyway; wait here. A handler will bring her along shortly,” Hartnell said, opening the door.

Early went in quietly and heard the door close behind him. The room was painted off-white all over. There was a table and two folding chairs in the middle of the room. They were, depressingly, the same colour. He briefly wondered which side of the table he was supposed to sit. A quick examination suggested they were both the same.

He decided to take the seat opposite the door, as it gave a more commanding presence. If it had been sooner in his career, he would have presumed that they would have expected that of him and gone for the seat nearer the door. However, he had recently come to the conclusion that trying to second-guess anyone was like a bad comedy skit, as they’d probably try to second-guess how you would second-guess them.

No sooner had he taken his seat than the door opened. A lean girl somewhere in her late teens walked -- no,
stalked -- into the room. He’d never seen a female Animus before, but as he knew what the males looked like, he couldn‘t not identify her as an Animus. Where you would expect body fat to provide definition on a normal human, the Animus lacked it. One of the scientists had explained it -- their metabolism was so severe they couldn’t sustain body fat. The head sheds were divided as to whether this was a result or cause of the Hunger. Only muscle tone prevented them looking malnourished. Although, a few of the Animus on the run looked that, too.

This girl had dark hair and dark eyes. As with all Animus, due to being raised without natural light she had what could only be described as extreme prison pallor -- and with the harsh fluorescent lighting, what little skin colour she might have had was bleached out.

The grey jumpsuit she was wearing would have emphasised her figure, had she had one. The hair was cut short, and the eyes were wary. Dog tags hung around her neck.

“You are Donovan Early?” she asked.

“Yeah. What’s your name, kid?” Early asked in response.

“I am Nemesis,” she replied.

“Cute,” Early muttered. “What’s your other name?”

Nemesis narrowed her eyes slightly, but it seemed affected. Early remembered something in the briefing about Lykaon Animus being the most loyal to their handlers. Well, Lykaon were part wolf and part human, and dogs were domesticated or ‘humanised’ wolves… Would the pup want a pat on the head?

“Lani. Lani Blaise,” she said.

‘Good girl,’ Early thought to himself. Out loud, he said, “Nice to meet you, Lani. Wanna take a seat?”

Nemesis took the seat opposite him carefully, not taking her eyes from him even as she brushed the seat with hand.

“So, Ms. Blaise. Our bosses think some of your fellow Animus may have left not just the province, but the country. They want me to go after them,” Early said, and then leaned in conspiratorially. “What can you tell me of how the Animus think?”

Nemesis tilted her head to one side and studied him, frowning. “I would try to avoid the cities at first. They’re too noisy and smelly,” she said. “But, smaller settlements would be insufficient to hide an Animus for too long. Especially if the Hunger was to overtake us. So…”

“You’d migrate to bigger towns. Then the cities. Then the biggest cities,” Early said.

“Yes,” Nemesis answered. “But I take it from your tone of voice, you had already surmised that.”

Early paused, thrown at actually hearing the word ‘surmised’ from the mouth of anyone who wasn’t involved with the law.

“Pretty much,” he said. “I’m told you could give me some insight to the Hunger?”

The frown on her face deepened. “The Hunger… It’s, well, it’s impossible to describe accurately. The Hunger is… As an Animus, I feel hungry most of the time. To say my highest priority is where my next meal is coming from wouldn’t be far wrong. But after…we change, this hunger is heightened to unbearable levels. At times, it can overcome us, leaving us barely more than berserk savages. In this state, our only focus is to gorge ourselves on meat.”

“Why meat?” Early said.

“I don’t know. Some of the scientists believe it’s due to the proteins in the meat, that immediately after the change it’s what our bodies need most. Some suggest it’s due to our DNA and our more bestial characteristics asserting themselves.” Nemesis shrugged. “If any of them do know the cause, they do not tell us.”

That made sense to Early. “So, you said gorge. Why did you choose that word?”

Nemesis shook her head, a wry smile quirking her lips. “You are Donovan Early, who brought down Achilles? Do you need to ask that?”

Achilles… He hadn’t known the monster’s code name, but he knew who she meant. A serial killer had been stalking the streets of the Hub, slaughtering without discrimination or pattern. As Early was in Chulainn’s pay, he decided he would hunt it down.

He didn’t approach the police, as he had no official weight, being a soldier of fortune. He followed the details released by the press. He talked to people who may have seen something. He talked to those who saw
‘absolutely nuffin’, honest, wait, no, don’t get like that, OK, but you don’t let anyone know I told you this’.

Eventually, he came across the man whose description had been seen around nearly every murder. The damage this man had done to those he killed was horrific. Early was prepared to bring in the corpse of a monster. And a monster was what he had got. With talons…teeth…

“An Animus in the grips of the Hunger… is nothing but a monster. Even in your own eyes. Tearing people apart to sate its guts, blind to everything else,” he said, presently.

Nemesis nodded, almost impassively. “Exactly. I have no idea how many of my friends fled in the Night of the Rage… or how many were torn apart by another Animus, perhaps even…myself.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last word.

“For myself -- and the other repatriates here -- losing ourselves to the Hunger is one of the worst fates imaginable. For those feral Animus… I can’t say. Some of them may revel in it. Others may end their own existence to try to escape it.”

She locked her eyes directly to Early’s.

“You should take care of yourself, Mr. Early.”
I work all day and I think all night
I break my body, but that's all right
Cos it'll take all my mind and all my might
To keep one step ahead of you
L.E. Modesitt, Jr wrote: Sometimes cynicism is the last refuge of the idealist.
As soon as you saw people as things to be measured, they didn't measure up.
You think water moves fast? You should see ice. It moves like it has a mind. Like it knows it killed the world once and got a taste for murder.
Gym Leader Kris sprite by Brooke

Sam Vimes arrested a dragon... and carries the law with him like an Ampharos
Vimes and PokeSammies sprite by GLD
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Old 05/05/2010   #57

Thetis didn’t know where she was when she woke up.

The icy chill of something against her back made the water prototype shiver as she stared at the dreary monotone sky. Her blue hair had come loose from its braid, and was spreading in the eerily calm water beneath her. How did she get here, again? Thetis couldn’t quite recall anything before waking up and staring at the empty space above her. Despite being surrounded by her element, Thetis felt alarmingly out of her depth. Her chest tightened. Something was very wrong.

The water prototype’s stomach churned as she clambered to her feet as she tried to negotiate her balance with the still sheet of water below her. It was so quiet, and the water seemed to go on for miles in a glassy grey expanse which never ended. Thetis impulsively reached for her arm, half expecting a twinge of pain from the battle she had fought...earlier? There was nothing there. She leaned over and glanced at her image in the murky grey mirror beneath her. No blood, no wounds, nothing. But she had been so sure, so certain that something had happened. The water prototype just didn’t know what. Thetis crouched to study her reflection. A ripple in the mirror, and her likeness faded in an instant. Thetis frowned. She was a Destrillian; designed to overcome any adversity. Why did she feel so nervous? The girl took a step back, her breath catching in her throat as she opened her mouth to shout for the others, someone, anyone who could tell her where she was. The prototype flinched at the sound of a booming voice.

“So it’s you.”

Thetis turned on her heels. It was the man she had never expected to see. The man who brought back memories of home and white corridors, the smell of moss and sterility, a photo of a woman with warm blonde hair and a smile that sparkled like the stars.
He was silent and stern in his starched shirt and tailored suit, his eyes cold and brown like coffee stains. She remembered what he had done, yes, but Thetis was drawn to him. To know that this man lived was to know that she existed. A few disjointed steps and Thetis was inches away from her father. He had betrayed her. But after years of not-knowing, to see him here and now melted her anger into nothingness. She was his daughter, after all. Trembling pale fingers reached to remind her that she had finally found the answers to everything.

The girl’s legs buckled beneath her as she was roughly pushed to the floor.

“Why did you?”
Her father loomed over her, and she could only stare up at him. This wasn’t right. There was a numb silence as Thetis attempted to process what had just happened. She had so much to say. Words floated around the air in bits and pieces as Thetis clumsily tried to form a coherent sentence. She stuttered, words dribbling out of her mouth as she tried to reason with her father.

“I don’t understa-“

“You left. And you know what? I didn’t mind. You didn’t want to follow me. And that’s fine. But how could you do that to your mother? You abandoned us. It’s all your fault.”

It’s all your fault it’s all your fault it’s all your fault it’s all your fault it’s all your fault
Those four little words hurt Thetis more than anything in the world. Tears pricked the back of her eyes as she edged herself away from the overshadowing figure of her father. One last look at her father’s glassy brown eyes, and Thetis felt herself being choked as she was dragged violently to her feet by the collar of her shirt, her feet trailing across the still sheet of water below her. Thetis flailed her arms behind her as she fought to tear herself free, pulling and scratching at the hands that held onto her clothes and hair in a vice-like grip. Before the girl could voice a single protest, she was roughly spun round and backhanded across the cheek. The force of the slap threw Thetis to the ground. Damp blades of grass brushed against her face and the mark on her face stung almost as badly as her damaged pride. Trees creaked in the wind, stripped of leaves and life, bare branches jutting out awkwardly like broken bones towards her as Thetis glanced indignantly into the face of her attacker. Her heart sunk as soon as she caught a glimpse of a pristine white lab coat and a chillingly critical glare. Thetis instinctively scrambled backwards, her chest heaving as Dr. Perkins walked closer and closer, yellow eyes widening as the Doctor squatted down in front of her.

“You continue to fail yourself, Number Six.”
Words fell from Thetis’ mouth in a gasp as she received another slap to the face. She watched Dr. Perkins stand up with a glare and a lump in her throat. It was exactly like back then at Viola; constant humiliation because she could never fight back, because she had always been so weak. Thetis sunk her nails into the grass as she watched her former Doctor wipe her hand on her sleeve in disgust.

“You continue to fail everyone you know, and most importantly, you continue to fail me.”
Incensed by the Doctor’s callous tone, the water prototype leapt to her feet. She had grown since Viola, and she knew it. Freedom had made her stronger.

“I-I’m NOT a failure!”
Thetis winced as she heard it; the stammer that betrayed every ounce of uncertainty in her words. She felt the rough bite of bark against her clothes as she backed into a tree, all of a sudden very aware of a number of soldiers approaching from all directions. The tell-tale click of rifles being raised and primed to fire made the girl’s hair stand on end. Her primal instincts kicked in as she watched Dr. Perkins pull a syringe from her pocket. A flash of steel, and the doctor was rolling a knife in her other hand, twisting the blade around her fingers without a thought to masking her intent. They weren’t taking her back to Viola. They were going to kill her.

“You’re not even human anymore. But you’re no better than one. You’re nothing. You think otherwise? Prove it.”
Adrenaline pulsed through her veins as the doctor’s taunts bubbled like poison under Thetis’ skin. If she was a shell of a Destrillian, she would make sure it was still enough to get revenge for ten years of torture at Viola. As water snaked up Thetis’ arms and body, she could have sworn she felt something of a twinge in the back of her skull.

“I have nothing to prove to you.”
Thetis’ voice resonated with the false confidence she had practised for years. As the sixth Destrillian prototype lunged for the troop of soldiers that stood before her, she held in her mind one clear thought.
She still had everything to prove.

Last edited by Bex; 05/05/2010 at 09:27 AM.
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Old 05/07/2010   #58

It was almost odd, after all the flashing lights and explosive heat she’d been exposed to lately. It was almost kind, after the dirty smiles and intentions of the scum in the sewer. It was almost comforting, after the horrors of the nightclub, what with its thumping music assaulting the ears and its pungent smoke assaulting the nose and its strobes and bodies and faces and mirrors and everything everything everything assaulting everything else.
Almost almost almost.

But not quite odd, because the girl was used to darkness and had learned to embrace it a long time ago; not quite kind, because there was an edge of something ominous to it, like the front of a storm cloud.
And definitely not comforting, for the woman who had put Idris Savage in this predicament was shady at best.Woman? Or child? Or thing? She—it?—had never given any sort of indication as to what her true form looked like, but good lord had she looked like a monster anyway. Idris would have shuddered if there had been enough of her to shudder – as it were, she was… floating, almost, upon something invisible and cold. She was barely able to register what cold felt like, so dulled were her nerves. But she remembered what it should feel like, and so with the confused signals her body managed to grab hold of, Idris gathered that this was cold… whatever this was.

But suddenly, it wasn’t cold anymore. No, the temperature was rising all of a sudden and Idris had a sickening jolt of a premonition that whatever was making the heat rise was bad bad bad. She tried to open her eyes, not knowing whether they were already open or not, but it was hard and her body was still sending jumbled signals to her – hot cold hot cold. What was where?
The heat of licking flames was above her.
The cool, familiar feel of solid metal was beneath her.

The Destrillian opened her eyes and beheld something she never wanted to see again.
I recognize this place.
It took her by surprise that she did, for Idris had not seen her house since the day the fire had actually occurred. That day… today…? For some reason it felt like ‘that day’ was supposed to be ‘today,’ although a big part of her told her it wasn’t. It had happened years ago, she told herself, and yet suddenly the small woman wasn’t so sure. What was going on?

“Idris? Where are you?”
The voice, muffled and hoarse from smoke, called out in the hallways and Idris’ mind did something it had never done before. It shut out logic in favour of awful awful awful childish instinct. Here she was, eleven years old, and this was her home, and it was the middle of the night and she was tired and in bed—on the floor?—and there was a fire raging away and this was her home.

“Idris? Where are you?”
“I’m here,” she tried to call back, but instead she only breathed in a lungful of smoke. She coughed it out, feeling increasingly like there was something she should be doing, but she couldn’t figure out what. She just had to get out of there, and find her family. There was plenty of metal on the floor, that would make life easy to escape… wait, wasn’t her floor made of wood? And what did she even mean, metal made life easy?

“Idris? Where are you?”
And the third time’s the charm and Idris Savage called out like the scared little girl she thought she was, for her mother and father and big brother, but there was no reply. The smoke stung her eyes and her fright didn’t help and soon she was crying crying crying there on the floor. Some memory stirred in her brain that you were supposed to stay low while there was a fire, and Idris curled up on the floor.
The moment her cheek hit the cool, soothing metal ground, some strange and painful blast of clarity went through her like the floor had shocked her. The girl started, and then blinked. What was going on here? Why did this feel familiar?


Oh. That’s why.

The ceiling caved, and a team of men resembling the military reconnaissance team of your nightmares came crashing down into her bedroom. That was what really kicked Idris back to where she was supposed to be. Here she was, crying on the floor while people were trying to kidnap her and… and… and…


And take her to Viola.

That’s right. The small woman’s bright grey eyes flashed with sudden realization. This had happened before – this exact scene, playing out in front of her, was what had gone on almost a decade ago. She had been taken by Viola to begin treatment, honing her into a weapon, and her family…

Her family was dead. Not from the fire, ironically, but from circumstances unknown to the woman. They had died while she was at Viola. They had died, which meant that the cries of anguish from somewhere just down the hallway that she could reach if she just tried a little bit, didn’t mean anything. And now Idris knew what was going on here.
You’re trying to pull up my past against me. Well, it won’t do you any good.

“No.” Idris stood up slowly, brushing herself off despite the flames licking around her. This had happened before, which meant it wasn’t happening now. The urge to run to save her family was there, alright, and it was strong, but Idris Savage’s logic was stronger. And so was her cold, sad, resigned determination.
You’re dead. You’re dead you’re dead you’re dead. I’ve already lost you – nice try, woman, she thought viciously, cursing the thing that had done this to her, but you’ll have to try a LOT harder to get me that easy.

The team in front of her, however, with their stun batons pointed straight at her, were going to be a bit more of a problem. Idris closed her eyes, took a deep breath of the air and the smoke and the flames, and ignored the urge to cough horridly. She needed to concentrate. The only safe exit was the door—as safe as you could get in a burning building, anyway. There would be no getting out easy.

A swift glance around the room one last time – maybe to scout for possible openings, maybe because she knew she’d never see her room with this much clarity ever again and she wanted to remember it, burning though it was. And then Idris Savage dropped to the floor, grabbed the metal floor beneath her, and pulled the top layer off, like pulling taffy. It hung liquid from her clenched fist, dripping thick silvery ropes down to the ground, until with a flex and flick of her hands the stuff wound around her forearms in a hard, fluid metal shield. Another flick of her fingers and the metal had whipped out to cover her fingertips in wicked claws, three inches in length and dense as lead.

“You want me so bad?” she said, talking to both the men and to whoever was controlling the freakish flashback. She took a stance incredibly low to the ground, coiled like a viper. She took a preparatory breath for what was about to happen. And with as much malice as she could muster (which was a truly frightening amount, mind,) she snarled through a grim, feral smile:


Disappear with the stars and come back alive.
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Old 05/09/2010   #59


The mid afternoon sun was irritating Serviceman Reynolds, standing guard on the Acropolis of the city wasn’t the kind of action he had expected when he enlisted in the armed forces three months ago. The closest he had come to a brush with the enemy was escorting Jason Spencer back into his cell a few days back. The fact that one of his greatest heroes was about to be executed for crimes against humanity was not helping this irritable, lazy afternoon. He had heard there had been some fighting for the 22nd Brigade down in the Orange Zone today, what he wouldn’t have given to have joined in down there. Anything would have been more interesting than the excruciatingly boring job of watching the helicopter landing pad here on the Acropolis from the interior of the security checkpoint. It was ridiculous, the Acropolis hadn’t suffered a direct attack for over five hundred years. Why the hell was it so necessary to have such a tight security force around here?

“Acropolis control, Acropolis control this is prisoner transport VTOL, callsign: AT-RAP requesting permission to land to commence prisoner extraction. Over.”
The speaker on the console piped up. Reynolds looked at it, dumbfounded momentarily, amazed that something had actually had happened on his shift.

“Anybody there?”

Reynolds blinked rapidly, snapping himself out of his daze. Of course a prisoner transport would be inbound, his superior had informed him that one would be coming in order to take Spencer from the jailhouse to the execution grounds.

“This is Acropolis control, you’re cleared to land AT-RAP”
he spoke apprehensively into the microphone. Doing his best to ignore the irony that he was now responsible for sending the man who had inspired him to join the armed forces in the first place, to his death.

“Much obliged” the gravelly voice of the pilot said.

Reynolds signalled to his partner to take over monitoring the consoles of the small control room, as he pulled on his dark blue security jacket and cap. He’d always loved seeing the VTOL craft take off and land, it was rare that somebody on security detail would ever get to see one up close. Stepping out of the office and through the door at the end of the hall he emerged onto an open-air walkway that led to the landing pad.

The VTOL that was coming in to land did not look any of the standard military-issue ones that Reynolds had been briefed about. It was sleek and jet-black, composed entirely of curves and contours, looking far more like a hyper-advanced prototype or private-sector vehicle than anything supplied by the armed forces.

But still, he thought to himself. The sector of the military that handled executions was so far removed from standard operations that the fact their own vehicles looked so different hardly came as a surprise. He gave a wave to the pilot, though he couldn’t see him through the pitch black windows of the cockpit.

The VTOL touched down, the engines’ volume lowering themselves to a low hum as Reynolds approached the cockpit door, which swung open and upwards like the scissor door of a sports car. It took less than ten seconds for Private Reynolds to realize that the man exiting the chopper was most definitely not a member of the military. Unfortunately for him, it took the bullet much less than ten seconds to punch through the very centre of his forehead.

“What a noob”
Salem muttered to himself as he holstered the high calibre revolver and closed the door to the VTOL.

He took a moment to consider that this plan would have probably gone alot smoother if he had used a silenced pistol, or even taken the time to dress in the uniform of one of the security officers of the Acropolis. Instead, Salem Locke had donned his own uniform, one so ragged and beaten up that he looked as though he had worn it through a hundred different battles. Military boots over a pair of torn, patched and ratty jeans, topped with a dirty white t-shirt emblazoned with the graphic image of a smiley face disfigured with a bloody bullet hole in the centre. Over the top of the shirt he wore a loose fitting kevlar bullet proof vest that had taken more than its fair share of damage in its time.

“Hey you! Freeze!”
the panicked voice of Serviceman Reynolds’ partner was yelling frantically. The deafening crack of the revolver gunshot had sent the frightened man sprinting outside to investigate.

“Put your hands up!”
he shouted back, Salem kept walking forward as though he hadn’t heard him or didn’t see the gun being pointed in his direction.

“Yeah, no. Sorry”

“I’ll shoot! I mean i-“
the explosion killed him before the scared guard could finish his sentence. Shearing his body apart so violently that it cracked the concrete walkway beneath their feet and collapsing the wall into the Acropolis air control station behind them. Leaving nothing but a smoking, bloody crater where the guard had been standing moments before.

Salem Locke, #022, the Destrillian of gas and explosions didn’t even change his expression from one of boredom. Returning to the VTOL, he fetched a long, slender package wrapped up in a brown paper from the passenger seat, which he promptly tucked underneath his arm. Finally smiling a wide grin as he heard the muted sounds of the alarms going off inside the Acropolis jail walls.

It was time to go to work.

“What do you mean it’s just one man?!”

“Like I said sir! It’s just one ma-AARRRGHH”

The communications line went dead with a jarring, agonizing scream that left Commander McCoy firmly rooted to the spot. Eyes transfixed on the walkie-talkie he was holding.

How could one man cause so much destruction? In the space of 5 minutes the courthouse and jail complex had been thrown into chaos. Timed explosives maybe? It had to be. Terrorists must have been setting up this plan for months. And today of all days? They had to have been after Spencer. It was the only explanation that made sense.

“All units, this is Commander McCoy. Defend Priority Prisoner One. He is the terrorists target!” he shouted into the communications device. “Do you read m-What the hell?” he shouted as the whole building shook. McCoy was a ten year veteran, listening to his senses is what had kept him alive throughout the war, and he was thankful they had saved his life again now. Running to the end of the corridor as the floor beneath him began to shatter and cave in, the structural integrity of the building was beginning to become too irreparably damaged by the scale of the explosions that were gutting its interior.


Salem hadn’t even been forced to break into a run yet, nor had there been any resistance strong enough to wipe the self satisfied smirk from his unshaven face as he calmly walked over the pile of rubble that had once been the central wall that separated the courthouse building from the jail area of the building. Holding out his left hand and feeling the gas constrict and tighten down the corridor to his side, the trio of guards who had turned on their heels to flee buckled over as all of the air at that end of the hall was sucked from their lungs, compressed from the air all around him into a space no bigger than a marble. Then he released the pressure psychically and felt the familiar wave of gratification as the tension released itself from his psychic ability.

The large explosion had blown out the walls, floor and ceiling from that end of the corridor, and Salem gave a wry look at the ceiling above his head. If he was crushed by some falling masonry then it would really put a downer on his big day out.


“Mr Spencer! We have orders to move you!”
said the most boisterous of the trio of guards that were now standing in the cramped, ill-maintained corridor outside of his tiny cell. The convict remained in utter silence, not even looking up from the shadowy recesses of the room, apparently transfixed with continuing scratch against the wall of this cell.

“Mr Spencer! We need to move out now, this facility is under attack from terrorists!”
he barked in what Spencer could have only assumed this guard believed was an intimidating, authoritative voice.

“I’m well aware.”
He said quietly. The scratching on the wall continued. Temporarily becoming the only sound as the distant rumblings of explosions died away. Spencer caught the nervous city guards, so unused to actual combat were noticeably trembling from the corner of his eye. “You would be well advised to leave now if you value your lives.”

“Shut up!” another one of the guards shouted, pointing the gun at Spencer through the bars. Spencer refused to look up from whatever he was engraving on the wall of his cell.

“If you want to live then I strongly advise you to leave now.”
Spencer spoke calmly and softly, ignoring the gun barrel mere feet from his temple.

“One more word out of you and I’ll put a bullet in your head, I swear to God!”
the guard shouted hysterically as an explosion much closer in proximity literally shook the room and caused a copious amount of dust to fall from the cracks in the aged ceiling.

Spencer let out a slow sigh and turned to face his aggressors; three sweaty, panicky youths. Not a one of them could have been older than twenty-one. His eyes were hidden in shadow, but the gaze was uncompromising, completely ignoring the potential threat of a loaded gun barrel thrust directly at his face.

“You were warned.”

As Spencer whispered those words they instantly became lost amongst the thunderous explosion and the resulting screams of the guards as the corridor outside the cell has blasted with boiling hot wind and the scorching blaze of gas expanding so rapidly that it caught all three in an explosion shattered bones and tore their insides asunder.

Even though the reinforced concrete walls of his cell provided Spencer with some protection, the sound had been like a cannon ball firing close by and had left his ears ringing uncomfortably.

“Hey gorgeous”
Salem spoke cheerfully as he strolled through the blackened crater that had once been one of the most secure doorways in the entire country. This penitentiary for only the most maximum security prisoners had been reduced to a charnel house in less than ten minutes by the gas Destrillian. This young man who had made a mockery of their uniforms and automatic weapons with his wild and unkempt green hair, torn clothing and arms covered from wrist to shoulder in a colourful mosaic of tattoos.

Spencer rolled his eyes, working with Salem was always treading a fine line between the special blend of lethal battlefield perfection and the intense desire to slap him for the continuous and inane running commentary of sarcasm and quips.

“You were cutting it pretty close there boss”
Salem said unhelpfully as he noisily tread through the bloody meat and brittle bones that were littering the floor.

“Just open the door, thank you” Spencer said patiently, casting a final look at the wall he had been carving on since he had first called his accomplice rather than watch as Salem created a mini explosion inside the cell door’s control panel.

“What were you doing in there?”
his partner asked inquisitively, looking at the white scarring marks that Spencer had been scratching into the wall of his cell. Five names had been crudely cut into the concrete surface.

“Just something to keep myself occupied.” Spencer said coldly.

“These five going to be the targets then?”

He answered simply, shrugging when he saw the incredulous look that Salem was giving him. “I’ve had a good long time to think about this Mr. Locke, I’ve made my decisions as to which of my errant creations matter. Shall we go?” Spencer made little attempt to hide his frustration at the fact they were lingering around his cell. Freedom was only minutes away, and every minute they spent talking here was another minute that the Artolian military would realize that their government’s highest priority prisoner was making an escape and to mobilize their military accordingly. Time was short.

“Did you take the VTOL here?”

“No. I rode in on a magnificent white stallion. I recognise one of those names, why do you need him?”
Salem asked impatiently as Spencer wearily got to his feet, with an equally impatient look in his eyes. The glare was as unreadable as it was severe, causing the gas Destrillian to check his insubordinate tone.

“I’ll tell you when you need to know.”
He said as calmly, but with enough force that the usually roguish Destrillian looked uneasily to avoid the uncomfortable gaze. “Now, let’s get out of here. Did you bring what I asked for?”

By way of a response Salem handed over the long, thin brown parcel he had been supporting in the crook of his arm. “I sure did” he responded “Figured mine wasn’t the only pretty face you needed to see”

Spencer smiled as he unwrapped the package revealing a long antique rifle and an equally long two-handed sword, the leather bound grips on both were well worn and the rifle’s barrel and sword’s scabbard looked weathered enough to know that they had both seen use outside of regular practice sessions. These were the traditional weapons of Artolian military officers, formerly they had stood out amongst the rank and file of the military by wearing a sword. This practice had long since been abandoned after he had left the military, but in close quarters combat and with a skilled sword arm, there was no more deadly weapon. His hands were quick to tie the scabbard and belt around his waist, well experienced from having done the same hundreds of times before. It was a larger sword than most officers dared to wield, many favouring their swords as being nothing more than ornamental trinkets as a mark of their status. Spencer had rejected that outright and chosen to wield a heavier blade, one that wouldn’t break or bend if he was forced to defend himself at close range.

“We have one more job to do before we can leave”

“We do?”

Spencer answered firmly, taking up his old rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. “We’re going to go kill the supreme court.”


“Can you confirm that Spencer is free?” Chief Justice Walther shouted over the chaotic hubbub of noise that was swelling to an almost unbearable pitch in the courtyard outside of the Central Courthouse building. The entire supreme court and many of the legal representatives involved in today’s trial had been hurriedly evacuated from the key government buildings encircling the courtyard. However, given that nobody really knew how many attackers there were or on what scale the devastation really was, the assembled mass of thirty to forty security guards had no real idea where to evacuate the civilians too. There had been reports of explosions all over the Acropolis, concentrated on the jail building adjacent to the courthouse.

“Not at this moment Chief Justice!”
one of the five security guards that he had been assigned solely to protect him responded.

“Well can’t you start getting these people out of here!”
Walther shouted back, grabbing hold of the guard. “We’re just begging to be ambushed by terrorists out here!”

“Not terrorists!”

One voice rang out clear above the crowd, powerful and captivating all at the same time. It was as hard as iron and loud enough to shout across the length of a battlefield. The noise seemed to die down before it, simultaneously curious and terrified. Every eye turned in its direction, towards the courthouse doorway where two men now stood.

“This was not done to you by terrorists!” Spencer shouted again. Mindful not to make a move down the steps of the courthouse, from speaking up at this height he could hold them captivated much like an actor or orator would do to their audience.

“This was done to you pathetic people by my Destrillians!” he gestured to the roguish figure of Salem to his left who gave a cheery wave to the crowd of petrified onlookers. “And by me!” it was now that the crowd noticed the drawn and bloody sword in Spencer’s hand. The panic and screaming began to set in now and a few of the guards began to fire their guns wildly at them. None of the bullets came close, but their firing encouraged more and more gunfire, causing Salem and Spencer to calmly move behind the pillars at the front of the courthouse building for cover.

“Did you really need to be so melodramatic?" the Destrillian asked with a wide smile on his face as the panicked shouting reached fever pitch as it struggled to contend with the cacophony of gunfire.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders indifferently and put the rifle down off his shoulders. “The survivors of what happens here today will now definitely know who to blame”

“And that’s a good thing I take it?”

“Even these clowns are competent enough to drive them out into the open” Spencer explained, then saw the sideways look that Salem was giving him from behind the other pillar “At the very least they might be able to help us find our friends.”

“And you aren’t worried at all that the humans won’t end up killing one of ‘our friends’, or one of the ones on your list?”
the Destrillian of Gas asked.

“No I’m not, Mr. Locke” Spencer said with such finality as if to suggest that the very notion was something repulsive and impossible. He carefully took the rifle from his shoulder and placed it against the pillar to his back. “Now listen closely, in ten seconds time I’m going to need you to destroy the very centre of that courtyard. Don’t concentrate the blast and make it 90% strength. I should have enough time to get clear.”

“Get clear? You’re going out there?”

“I’m going to be sending a message.” Spencer corrected him. “Leave one survivor”

Spencer leapt out from behind the pillar and instantly tucked into a dive to duck the swathe of bullets that cut through the air above him. Hitting the hard stone floor at the foot of the steps and instantly tucking into a roll to minimise the pain on impact.


He leapt forward, the sword swinging out to the right to sever somebody’s head and then back around, using his own momentum to cleave a female lawyer he recognised from the trial in half, all in one fluid motion.


The sword swung out again and again, and two more maimed security guards fell to the floor. Spencer caught a muzzle flash out of the corner of his eye, some idiot was trying to shoot at him whilst he was in the middle of a packed crowd. He rolled his shoulder instinctively and felt the bullet streak by him, plucking at the fabric of his bright orange prison uniform. Faster than the guard could squeeze the trigger a second time, the former President of Viola had taken one step forward and extended the heavy sword with one arm outstretched to pierce the security guard’s throat...


...and tearing it out again in one large stroke, catching another advancing security guard in the face, dropping him to the floor. He caught a glance of the familiar long black robes worn by the supreme court amongst the teeming mass of people and charged forwards.


A series of brutal chops with the sword left the security guards separating him from his targets had left them maimed and screaming on the floor.


The first one fell before he could even cry out, thick red blood spilling out onto his black robes. One brave security guard tried getting in between Spencer and the next Justice but he was knocked to the floor by one of Spencer’s fists crashing into his face, rewarding him with the sickening wet crunch of his nose shattering.


Two more Justices fell in less than a second as they tried to escape, but were hindered by the massive throng of fleeing civilians. That just left chief justice Walther. Not much time left.


Another bullet flew by him, but Spencer paid no attention. His eyes transfixed on the man that had spent the better part of two years trying to damn him into a death sentence.


Most kills were emotionless, an act of necessity, a means to an end. Spencer rarely felt guilt, or sorrow, or pleasure in taking the life of another. Out of the dozen or so men and women he had slain this afternoon, taking Chief Justice Walther’s life was the only one that managed to penetrate the cold, mechanical act of killing another human. The act of pushing the blade roughly in between his ribs and feeling the resistance on it as it tore through the stomach and punctured the heart left him with the lingering satisfaction that only came with the total destruction of an enemy.


The air around him was starting to get tighter, his heightened senses, fuelled on pure adrenalin alerted his brain that his lungs were having to work harder to draw oxygen from the air around him. Pumping his fists and breaking into a sprint he ran back towards the steps, following the bloody path he had carved.


It had all happened so quickly, but to an old soldier, fighting like that seemed to take so much longer. Time seemed to slow down, opponents would move much more sluggishly than they would normally and every move you made would be much faster and more precise than you would have been in any normal situation.

The explosion would have killed most of the surviving masses instantly. An enormous fireball that had burst forward from the area of the courtyard where the crowd had been thickest, wiping all traces of their existence out in a single instant. The explosion was so powerful that the marble floor and iconic statue shattered and threw debris and bodies into the sky. Those who had survived the initial blast were killed by the hundreds shards of marble that had been thrown up from the explosion.

Nearly fifty people had been killed in less than ten seconds. Neither Spencer nor Salem even batted an eyelid.

The courtyard had been reduced to a singular black smoking crater, littered him the badly burned and dismembered bodies and the dead and the dying. There weren’t even any of the characteristic moans or screams that Spencer remembered from his days in the army after watching his men shelled by artillery fire. There was just silence.

“Precious few would have survived”
Spencer remarked quietly as he shouldered his carefully discarded rifle.

“Yeah, wasn’t that the point?
” Salem remarked. His voice was strained and out of breath, finally feeling the effects of such a sustained and continuous use of his power.

“Indeed” Spencer said to himself as he wiped the fresh blood from his sword on the orange leg of his pants. “Now we’re leaving. Did you land the VTOL close by?”

“I used the east landing pad yeah, not far.”

“Good. I’d say we have about ten minutes to get off the Acropolis before the entire Artolian military shows up.”

Last edited by Alex; 05/15/2010 at 07:53 PM.
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Old 05/11/2010   #60

The walking seemed to go on forever...and ever....and ever. Stolz was getting both tired and bored - there simply wasn't anything of interest to look at, save for the unusual company that was traveling with Stolz, thus they decided to get a good look at these people.

They were already familiar with Popsicle Girl, with her unusually delicious looking hair. She had made a very poor introduction, as usually it was preferred to greet a person with 'hello' and not just stare at them, but Stolz suspected this one was just in dire need of a hug.

Next there was Captain Fabulous and his magical super amour of wonders. Stolz has read news reports about some costumed vigilante going about the city and fighting crime, however they assumed it was just a publicity stunt by IBC, plugging another bad show with viewers that can be counted on one hand.

Then there was Mr. Creepy eyes, he certainly had creepy eyes. Stolz had seen worse things before but those were certainly high on the list. And then, walking near him was the girl who had accepted Stolz's offer of assistance. They didn't know her name but she seemed nice, mostly because she hadn't threatened or made any kind of hostile gesture like most of the others had. Also there was the Glasses girl and the Red head....the Red head. Something didn't seem right to Stolz about that one, it was a peculiar feeling, almost like when THEY were around, but it was impossible for her to have anything to do with THEM..... oh and finally there was the weird creature that was leading them back to it's lair to feast upon them, that thing was cool.

Once again Stolz's trail of thoughts had made them oblivious to their surroundings, and so without realizing it the party had arrived at some place...with a door. Doors usually lead somewhere so Stolz could only deduce from watching a lot of television and seeing two intimidating looking bouncers that this must be a secret nightclub full of vampires. However the individuals that had just been ejected from the establishment did not look like Vampires, but rather the kind of trash you find shooting up in some dark corner of the Orange Zone - do not want.

The men then seemed to be looking the direction of the female members of the group, and one of them then said “Well, looks like we got us some pretty-kitties here to play with, don’t we, Sammy?”

Kitties? I love kitties! But I see no kitty cats around here, and these gentlemen don't exactly look like cat people Stolz thought to them self, looking around for said felines. They then missed some more dialogue before something came to Stolz's attention - blood, all over the place. During the moment of Stolz not paying attention, the two men had been killed horrible by the large creature thing, therefore they would not be able to play with the kitties they had spotted earlier.

“Don’t worry, we’ll clean up the mess. Mistress is waiting, and from what I heard it’s taking you a little longer than she liked.” A bouncer said to the group. Stolz was very confused now however since the others began heading inside then that was obviously where to go.

Inside the club was very....peculiar, even for someone like Stolz. Unusual things were all around the place - The walls seemed at one point to be running with blood, then changing colour, and even images of people flowing into one another in a rhythmic fashion. If it weren't also for the bizarre smells then Stolz would've sworn they were back at home watching IBC4's Friday night after hours programming. However suddenly Stolz had an unusual feeling, a strong sense of anxiety....almost felt like something was coming, but they couldn't tell if this sense was real of an effect of god knows what is going around in the air currently. Their eyes narrowed under the goggles for a moment and scanned the surroundings.

What is this? My senses are all thrown off, I can't tell what's going on, weather there are friends or enemies nearby....and this makes me too vulnerable. I need to find out who or what is behind this place...

Stolz's questions would soon be answered as a bouncer ahead of them opened a strange door and said “Mistress is waiting.” before leaving. Stolz wasn't keen on entering this mysterious room however the others seemed to be so there was no choice. Inside was completely black, but not for long, suddenly a bright light filled the room, although Stolz wasn't that bothered thanks to still having the goggles covering their eyes. There also seemed to be snakes on the floor, causing a few of the others to recoil at the creatures on the ground, however Stolz didn't even pay attention to them, nor the walls covered in naked, dismembered people. Stolz was just staring right at the teenage girl seated at the end of the room with the large cat-like creature at her feet. The over-the-top display and freakishly extravagant thrown made it pretty clear that this being was the one behind everything in this establishment.

“Why are you here?”
Spoke this new girls voice. “They tell me you came from out of the Orange Zone.”

Stolz then immediately, in a serious and completely different tone to their regular voice, called out "You tell us" However Stolz got the answer they were expecting.

“My lair, my rules. You know when you play in someone else’s house, you play their games.” And shortly after those words the girl suddenly shifted into an adult woman. Stolz however did not flinch, just remained still with both eyes fixed on this....person.

“You’re not like the others…” The 'woman' spoke to her gathered audience once again, to which she was replied to by a voice Stolz didn't pay attention to.

“We can’t really say the same thing about you.”

And with a shake of her head and some eye colour trick, the woman added. “You didn’t come here by choice, you’re looking for something… something more human – human – than you…”

That rules you out then Stolz thought, it couldn't be more clear that this person if you could even call them that was not human. Then a few torsos landed on the floor in front of the group, and once again Stolz paid no mind to them - it was essential to keep both eyes on this figure in the chair as only the gods know what she'll do next.

“I can help you with what you need… a sanctuary…” She said before spasming and screwing around with her image once more. What a hilarious notion, there was no play in this city, above or below, that could be considered such a place.

“Somewhere safe, a sanctuaryAAAAAHHHHH-” The woman then looked like she was suffering from epilepsy, which Stolz knew about all too well from when IBC was airing those old foreign action cartoons with all the flashing lights constantly filling the screen. No now was not the time for a tangent, the creepy woman was spazzing out on the floor, but after a moment stopped...then moved again....then turned to there's a child with a magical dress that has auto-adjust built into it. After shifting between form a little more, this odd woman now stood right in front of the group and spoke to them once again.

“Long story short, I don’t know who you are. But in a moment, I will find out. And maybe some of you will too.” Which followed with a red mist or gas-like substance started to come from the ceiling and envelop Stolz's companions. The woman spoke again but Stolz paid no attention, as it was clear this person was not friendly. It seemed then that this gas was subduing the others, and they all fell onto the group and now Stolz found them self left standing with, of all people, Captain Fabulous.

This is bad, but if this changeling want's trouble, I'll give her trouble And Stolz placed one of their hands on the goggles, ready to remove them. But suddenly they felt a hand grab them but the back of the neck, followed by the prick of a syringe.

Or maybe this person is a terrible host.....I think they....need to...lay off
And then Stolz slipped out of consciousness.



The car pulled up at a tall apartment complex, and Jelanda switched off the engine. She then turned to Major Matsuya and said. "Well here we are Ma'am, I'll leave you here then."

Kijo was about to step out of the car, but noticed Jelanda seemed rather tired herself, and after thinking for a moment, asked. "Where do you live Lieutenant?" a surprising question to the young girl, who then replied "Eastern side of central Ma'am."

The next words were very hard for Kijo to voice, however the more she looked at Jelanda, the more she could see the girl was exhausted, probably been without sleep as long as herself, and remembering what Farant had told her many times, she said.

"It is almost 2 in the morning and East Central is nearly half an hour away from here, I could not just let you just head off in the condition you are in."

These sudden words had Jelanda even more puzzled, the Major was the type who would usually just be all 'Understood, goodbye.' But now it seemed like she was forcing herself to be friendly. All Jelanda could muster up in response was "Ma'am?"

"You may stay here if you like, I have a spare room. It would be no trouble at all." The words seemed stale and forced, however it was clear she was trying to make an effort, and so Jelanda gave a weak smile and replied. "Thank you, Ma'am".

"We're not on duty anymore, so Kijo will suffice Lieutenant." She quickly added, to which Jelanda just as quickly said. "Please, call me Jelanda, it is my name after all."

Kijo gave her a nod then they both stepped out of the car and walked towards the main entrance to the apartments. Jelanda then let out a small laugh and said. "You know, this was the last thing I expected from you, Kijo." Which was met with a quick glance from the other woman followed by the words. "Indeed. However I must ask you do not tell Marshall of this, he will start to think I have gone soft and then I shall never hear the end of it." Jelanda giggled at the words, which made Kijo show a small smile. She hadn't seen such joyful innocence for many, many years, and although she wouldn't outright say so, it was nice to reminded once again.



That was no fun at all, now I really wish there were Vampires.

Vampires would still have been bad, wouldn't they have tried to drink your blood?

Who? What? Is there someone else here?

I would certainly hope so, otherwise it means you're talking to yourself.

That wouldn't be the first time I assure you, sometimes I've engaged in conversations with inanimate objects.

How riveting those must have been.

Never mind that! Who are you Missy?
The voice communicating with Stolz was distinctly female despite a weird echo effect.

"I'm....I'm....uh....I'm not sure."

Well pleased to meetcha Not Sure, I'm Stolz!

Hey that's not what I meant! I mean I have no idea who I am!

Ohhhhh right right, sorry. I assumed you just had some weird parents that decided to pull a bad joke when you were born which would eventually cause you to change your name to 'Francesca Von Heidelberg', invest millions in a floating mansion held up by zeppelins, then die a horrible death when someone lit a match which caused the gases in the zeppelins to ignite and blow you all to kingdom come.

You really assumed THAT?


I see, well back onto topic, I can't tell you my name or anything about me as I simply don't know.

But you have to have a name! It's important to like, be found when you're shopping and your car suddenly gets towed.

Uh-huh, so then what should I be called? about Virtue?'


Yeah, it's also the name of a robot on a TV show I watch a lot, I think it would be good for you also!

You certainly have a peculiar way of coming up with names, but okay. From now on you can call me Virtue!

Hooray! Now we just need you to give birth to a child and name it Nadleeh!

...should I even ask?

Probably not.

So then, Stolz, what happens now?

Well....methinks we should focus on why I am in this unknown space deedly talking to you....which was...ummm...OH THAT'S RIGHT! Creepy shape-shifter gassed people and Injected me with something!

WHAT?! That's really bad! What if she intends to cause you harm?

Or bang my holes for that matter...

Again, should I ask?

Maybe?....on reflection I'm pretty sure at some point I heard someone outside the place I was in say something like that tho I'm not entirely sure what it means.

Right, well it seems you could be in potential danger, so please wake up!

Okay! ...just how do I do that?

Let's see... how about you try counting sheep? If it puts you to sleep while you're awake, maybe it will have the opposite effect while you're out?

Hrmm, I like you're thinking. Okay then, One sheep....Two Sheep...Three Sheep....

Meanwhile, back in reality....

“Oh, and hey – aren’t you gonna hook that kid up to some of that wacko-jacko shit?” Nova flicked his head in Stolz’s direction, who lay unconscious on a mattress in the corner of the room.

“We have other plans.”

Nova rolled his eyes. “Yeah, y’all need to do your thang with him, move yo master plan and all into fruition or someshit. I get it.” He cricked his neck as he turned to face the shadows at the back of the room, raising his eyebrows in curiosity. “But just how important is that kid to youse guys anyway?”

"Oh, let's just say they're VERY important to us..." Said Inveja and she emerged from the shadows, still with her Visor concealing her eyes. The second figure, Vollerei, shortly followed, revealing his appearance. He had an unusual shade of green hair, and wore a sort of military outfit - button up top and matching pants, a harness-like belt with many pouches around his waist, and also sported black combat boots and short black gloves. Additionally he had a large gun of unknown function slung over his back and a combat knife strapped to his right leg.

"This is just too great! All of them, right here in a convenient location. And the best part is we can see into their nightmares! Ah could this day get any better?" He asked to Inveja next to him.

"Actually yes it can - Vana isn't here." She said with a grin.

"Touche. So then shall we go wake our little friend over there?" Gesturing towards Stolz.

"Why yes, I think it's time that we had a little talk." And she began to walk towards the small figure lying on the mattress.

The pair loomed over the little one and just stared for a moment, waiting. The next part they didn't expect. Stolz suddenly jolted out of the forced slumber and shouted "10 SHEEP!" However the spontaneous action didn't phase them the slightest, and Inveja keeled down to look Stolz directly in the eyes.

"Hello Stolz, we've missed you." She said with a grin.

"You? What do you want?" Stolz replied, once again in their different, serious tone.

"Oh come now, is that any way to treat your old friends?"
, Vollerei chuckled as Inveja spoke those words.

"You are not my friends." Stolz bluntly replied. That made the pair exchange glances, then look back at Stolz with their grinning faces.

"Woa now, temper temper short fry. Better be careful what you say, otherwise we might just get mad...and you know what happens if we do." Vollerei added, then raised both his hands in claw like gestures.

"Yes....I do. Then get to the point, what do you want?"
Stolz said in a blunt and agitated manner.

Inveja placed her hand on the side of Stolz's face and turned their head to face hers "Well you see, we've been dying to meet your new friends, I hear.....great things about them and just had to see for myself." She said, then gently slid her hand off Stolz's cheek. The pair then turned to face the cluster of pods that contained the unconscious Destrillians. Inveja stood up and walked towards the pods, and, without any regard to Jettison and Nova's presence, spoke out loud.

"You see my dear Stolz, these....things, these worthless creatures, are nothing more than old weaponry that have been rusting away in the dark corners of this city. And even weaponry is too kind of a word to use, for they weren't even completed, just unfinished science projects of a fallen company that the world no longer cares about."

Stolz then slowly stood up and began walking towards the pods also.

"Well you know what? I have no idea what you're saying."

"Ha! No you wouldn't, you don't know anything, not about us, not about them..." Inveja said as she pointed at the unconscious Destrillains. "...not about anything. You live out your life wandering the city with a carefree smile on your face, completely oblivious to everything going on around you. I think you should stop this charade and just accept your fate, after all, it won't hurt a bit." She finished by tilting her head forward and grinning heavily at Stolz.

"Veya you talk too much." Vollerei interrupted. "It's about time we got a good look at these 'Destrillains'...." He then leaned over to the nearest pod and observed the person inside, to which he let out a whistle.

"Hoo boy! Look at the rack on that one, never though something like that could come out of a Viola facility." He ogled at the unconscious form of a Red Haired girl with freckles. Inveja stepped over to stand next to him and placed her hand up to the Visor.

"Emma Johnson, Destrillian Prototype number eight. You gonna offer to buy her a drink Voller?" She snarked at him.

"Heh, if only, but you know the boss's orders..."

Inveja nodded then began to walk by the other pods. "Thetis Alcesteos, Kerr Nordstrom, Terra Michaels....hmmm interesting, this next one's from facility #2, Kramskov Niet. It's amazing the sort of trash that shows up in Osea....hold on now we're talking." Inveja stopped right in front of the last pod. She then smirked and looked over to Vollerei.

"Look what I just found Voller, it's number nine." The words made Vollerei smirk and quickly walk over to see it for himself.

"Idris Savage, one of the most dangerous beings that escaped Viola. This IS a great day!" Vollerei called out in joy. Inveja then leaned forward and added "Oh that it is...." and began to remove her gloved. Stolz's eyes widened greatly at the action from Inveja and yelled out.

"Hey! What are you doing!?" Which caused the dark-cherry haired woman to slowly turn her head towards Stolz and reply "What does it look like? This is just too tempting to let pass after all." And with that a black, liquid looking substance began to form around her right hand which emitted a hissing sort of sound. Inveja then began to move her hand closer and closer towards Idris' pod, during which there was some form of objection from Jettison however Inveja just discarded it by raising her other hand in the woman's direction as to say 'you wanna be next?'. However, then as her hand was just about to make contact, a smaller hand grabbed her arm.

Stolz held onto Inveja's arm tight and would not let go, the look on the woman was that of both puzzlement and extreme anger.

"And what do you think you're doing, runt?"
She asked in an unamused tone.

Stolz glared at her and boldly stated "I won't let you do it. Not while I'm here." This sudden outburst of defiance from Stolz made Inveja's eyes widen under her visor for a moment, then she smiled in an eerie manner and the dark substance around her hand vanished.

"Fine have it your way...." She said, then leaned over Stolz's left ear and whispered. "...but won't always be around. I'm not exactly sure what you're game is, but what you try to protect will inevitably be lost, and you will know despair."

Their little heart-to-heart was then suddenly interrupted by large crashing sounds and the smell of smoke coming from somewhere in the club. Inveja quickly faced the direction and placed her hand on her Visor.

"Fire detected within the building....and I'm picking up the energy signature of another two, nearby." The pair then turned to Jettison and Vollerei scoffed. "Well now....looks like you missed a couple, but don't worry....we'll have this mess cleaned up in no time." followed by a thumbs up, and with that, the pair glared at Stolz then darted out the door towards the location of their new prey.

Stolz turned back to the pod and looked in at the girl that was apparently named 'Idris' for a moment, who seemed so peaceful in her artificial slumber. Stolz gradually turned their head to face the creepy woman and, nearly in tears, said in their regular tone "They....him and her....they are bad people..... and will just come right back when they're done... probably with even worse intentions.... so please.... just let them out..." They then placed their head onto the pod and hit it with their fist once.

"...just let them out."

Meanwhile, in the other part of the Club

Inveja and Vollerei entered to main section of the club only to find part of it on fire. The patrons were scurrying towards the exits in a panic so it was difficult to spot the targets, however the next thing they heard made it very clear there was at least one very close.


The shouting came from an insane looking girl with fiery coloured hair, the perfect camouflage when half the room was on fire. Then it seemed the second target appeared, a male, who grabbed the girl's arm in what looked like a gesture for them to leave. Vollerei then said to his comrade "And what are the names of our two lucky contestants tonight Veya?" To which she once again raised her hand to the Visor and replied

"Fiona Myrwind and Lokka Kayne, one is the fire bitch from facility one and the second is yet another fine example of the crap they were spewing out of facility two....barriers or some shit like that."

Vollerei unslung his weapon then smiled. "Alright we know who we've got then. I'm gonna take Mr. Barrier and you can have the flaming fucker next to him." Inveja also smiled and withdrew her Katana from it's sheath.

"Sounds good to me, however first I think the polite thing to do is say hi." And then they took a few steps forward and she called out:

"Good evening Blazing Fury and Pale Shell! You've certainly made a mess here, and we thought we'd show a kind gesture to the owner of this establishment and clean it up for them...."

After which Vollerei raised him gun up to point at the pair of Destrillians and added "So what coat of polish would you two like.... regular or heavy duty?" followed by a sinister smirk.

Despite certain orders they were simply itching to kill Destrillians tonight and right now that's exactly what they intended to do.

Hey who wants to come home with me?!
Ok that wasn't very smart but totally worth it!

Last edited by NoenGaruth; 05/14/2010 at 02:22 PM.
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