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+--- Thread: [4-14] The Town (/showthread.php?tid=4683)
RE: [4-] The Town - 2B - 07-25-2016
In the darkness of the night, two figures were slouched against the walls of a small bathroom. Through the ruinous streets the pair had scrambled, something primal, akin to fear and panic, having fueled their exhausted muscles.
Life, or death.
That was the choice they had been given, and life had won the draw. How long had they been here? The duo didn’t know, their sense of time shattered by the events that had transpired. Come to think of it, not a word had been spoken since stopping. Finally a shaky, quiet voice pierced the silence.
“She…. She’s dead. We chose the wrong one..”
As the voice cut through the exhausting silence the second figure lifted their head, perhaps intending to offer a response of some sort, before they were cut off.
“Worse than dead. She… She’s like them now. The odds were with us, weren’t they?! So why? Why?!” The tone broke, shattered like a beautiful wine glass upon stone, as a gloved hand sunk into the drywall. “Why does everyone keep disappearing from my life?” The continuation spoken in such a quiet voice that it slipped past the knight’s hearing, a solitary tear rolling down along the Fox’s fur, eventually disappearing somewhere within.
It was then that the knight finally spoke out. “She made the choice herself. Forced by the circumstance. It was not a choice she………. We. Made lightly. We all made it together. But we did not make it out of desire. We did not make it out of our free will. We made it because the circumstances forced our hand.” The knight paused for a moment.. “I am just sorry I could not fulfill her final wish. It is… It is a disgrace for me, as a knight.” Arturia slowly bit down upon her lower lip, as she lowered her gaze to the floor.
Her mind consisted of naught, but a small shard of anger lodged deep into her being. A sense of anger and resentment toward herself. She had sworn to protect Fiara. To protect Amber. To protect Jasmine. Jeremiah. Jessica. Jonah. Carmelita.
What good had her oath done? Her oath of protection had doomed them to death, each and every one of them. It always seemed to happen. Fiara, missing. Carmelita, wounded. She herself was fairly banged up, dents in her armour, the dress torn, bruises and cuts littering her body where the armour hadn’t protected her.
“What good is a King’s oath for, if that King cannot save those whom she swore to protect?” the knight muttered as her knuckles paled. She was as worthless as her oaths. As worthless as she had been to her country.
The silence settled, enveloping the despairing pair of heroes within its mysterious embrace. Eventually, exhaustion won as sleep took hold, nightmares littering their rest. The knight’s final beacon of consciousness thought was of justice.
Perhaps all this was her punishment for being the king whom could not understand the feelings of others. The king whom had been too perfect in her time of rule.
Much too soon were they torn from their restless slumber by each other’s distressed screams. Perhaps it had been the same dream they had shared, perhaps not. Sharing a knowing glance, their legs slowly winched them into standing position, as Arturia’s voice rang tired. “We must get those syringes somewhere to create a medicine. Such will not be found from within this town.” faint memory of what seemed long ago pushed within her mind, as she continued.
“Piecing together what little we have, Omnilium seems to be the reason for this.. And this place has an Omnilium mine, judging by some notes I found within the place I visited. There are escape pods somewhere there.. Apparently the shipments had stopped coming a while ago..” It was a long explanation, but a much needed one. They needed a plan of action, a new direction. Otherwise, they both would collapse and succumb to their despair. On some level, they both knew they needed to move, to push away their shattered hearts and the feelings of remorseless doubt and guilt.
“Sí. We must get them into the proper hands, or…” the officer’s hollow voice fell silent as the fate that could have awaited them lingered within her mind, before it was forced back into the darkest corner. “Wherever the escape pods are, there must be something more than just the pods there.. Perhaps a facility of some sort?”
Arturia offered a solitary nod of acknowledgement.
The team of thr-.. two didn’t have much to go on. Their plan was formed of naught but grasps of pathetic hopes and bits of information. But, they both knew it was time to get moving before the ghosts of their pasts could catch up.
Quote:811 words according to site, not counting contents of Quote.
RE: [4-] The Town - Carmelita - 07-26-2016
Carmelita was no stranger to dealing with emotional or physical pain. Admittedly, her ways of dealing with the former were unhealthy and the latter was a mix of field medicine and home remedies, but she’d been through a lot.
That meant that when Arturia gave her a direction to channel her focus, she grabbed it with both hands. All of her worries, all of the feelings of guilt and pain, were bottled up and shoved into a small compartment in her mind, and after an hour of grief and terror she steeled her features and methodically went about the task of preparing to head out.
The apartment the two of them were in had little in the way of supplies, but Carmelita tore the curtains into shreds and used them to bandage her and Arturia’s wounds. Blood loss was not something she was willing to die of, even if she did have a gaping gash in her side and a bit of trouble breathing thanks to the strangling she’d received at Amber’s hands.
Wounds treated to the best of their ability, the two of them began traversing the city, heading for the outskirts with the aim of reaching the mines. The rooftops were a mixture of flat and tiled, which made for some more precarious moments, but both of them took one look down at the streets that had been so empty during the daytime now filled with shadowy figure prowling around the street corners.
Crossing over streets became a challenge, one that the two women worked hard to overcome. Billboards became ramps, fire escapes were repurposed into ladder walkways and on one memorable occasion Carmelita used her stealth field to cross a swarming street to create a rope bridge out of telephone wires.
As the moved, the briefcase containing the inoculations weighed heavy at Carmelita’s side. Despite the dizziness that set in from time to time and the headache that remained a pulsing constant, these syringes were the last hope for saving the island. The mere chance that the facilities at the mine might have some way of spreading the cure, or failing that getting the inoculation off the island for replication in a verse where Omnilium worked correctly, was enough for the two to fight on.
This didn’t mean that either of them were in fighting shape. It took several hours to reach the outskirts, where fewer ghouls roamed the streets, and even then their pace was slowed by the need to keep hiding since the more separate houses were now impossible to traverse via their roofs.
As they reached the border with the forest and the main road out of town, Carmelita took a moment to look back at the few lights that remained on.
“We’ll be back, Amber. And we’ll have a cure…”
Arturia took Carmelita’s arm and the two headed away from the town through the darkness.
RE: [4-] The Town - Karl Jak - 07-26-2016
Quote:Arturia and Carmelita have exited the Town.
RE: [4-] The Town - Amber Veritz - 07-27-2016
The monstrosity ran through the streets of the town with her newly acquired entourage. The team of mutated humans were searching for their prey, like hunters on the prowl. They cared not whether it be vermin or human.
The leader of the group stopped as they came closer to the sound of a loud voice. It was the voice of a man, explaining that everyone should head to the docks outside the town. Though most of the followers could not understand what the voice was saying, their new leader was more versed in language. She took off towards where the transmission was leading people with her soldiers at her back.
Though Amber had not known where the docks were, it wouldn't stop her from finding dinner. The people there would most likely be survivors of the plane crash. Even so, no one would be spared her claws or teeth. Not even Carmelita or Arturia, for Amber was too far gone now. A mindless being that only understood how to survive.
RE: [4-] The Town - Remilia Scarlet - 07-27-2016
The screams of the damned crescendoed in harmony as they encircled the music store, which forced Remilia to cover her ears as a few shapes from the shadows soon turned to a flood. They did not so much appeared as they did flowed out from the hidden streets of the city, called by the two’s well intended message like piranha to the smell of blood. The twisted creatures had laid siege to them and it would take little time for them to break through with numbers alone. As the vampire watched the assault only strengthen with each second, she glanced at the spell card in her hand and felt her heart clenched with hopelessness. Heart Break was meant to fell a single foe, and before her was an army. Even with Gin’s help, what chance did she have to fight through such overwhelming odds?
They had to find a way out. It was their only chance.
“Gin!” Remilia shouted again as she scrambled towards the stairs. The redhead himself had raced down from the floor above even before the vampire had even called for him. “We got monsters surrounding the place”
“I noticed” the redhead answered and looked down the stairs as the sound of more unearthly screams rip across the side of their new prison. “I don’t think we can fight our way through”
The situation was bleak. In reality, everything since they first started this rescue mission had turned to misery. Everything felt so heavy on Remilia’s mind and the abyss called to her as it neared.
But something caught her. Like a trapped animal, it thrashed against the doubt. It dragged Remilia back, a violent stirring as it reminded her of who she was. Was she going to stand here like a sniveling weakling, mewling for a strong man to save her? Was she not a creature of the night, scourge of both the western and eastern worlds? Weaver of fate and an unparallelled sorceress of magic? She was Remilia Scarlet! A fire burned in her heart as her youkai pride broke through the soft shell she had covered it with when she had treated Gin like a friend. She had willingly made herself vulnerable. But right now a friend wasn’t what was needed.
What was needed was the Scarlet Devil.
Gin noticed as the duo ran further down that the vampire seem distracted by something, uncharacteristically focused on something. In her mind she watched the strands of fate move and saw a hundred futures play out. Although she had lost the power to control fate itself, she still had control of her own. This would not be how it ends.
“Fire escape on the next floor down.” Remilia began to explain ” Player piano to right, bring it over to the stairs and throw it down to make it harder for them to chase us. They’re going to break through and we’re not going to get passed them” As if on cue, the sound of metal buckled before it was rended completely as far too many bodies forced their way through. “Follow me and live”
Gin was not a stranger to that phrase, his time under the service had him learn that it was the orders of those above you that kept you alive. But it seemed so surreal to hear it from the childish vampire. And yet he saw the devilish thoughts in those scarlet eyes, and that she had no tolerance for disobedience when she raised her claws up threatenly.
“Alright!” He shouted and split off towards the object in question. He figured that Remilia’s plan, whatever it was, would keep the horde away as they made their escape out of this. But Remilia knew it would only stall.
As the the horde dashed across the stairs once works of joy and contrasted harshly with their pelled and bleached skins, they found the scarlet devil stood defiantly before them with a hand raised up and a smirk across her face that spelled their doom. They kept on, uncared if their meal chose not to run. But they too did not care as the hand flashed with red power, a spear of pure energy formed from the will of Remilia, and in a powerful throw sent it hurling through the swarm. It pierced many of them, pain coursed through them and the blow sent them back against the bodies behind them, and out the wall they were pressed against with a bright beam a light seen momentarily by those outside like a beacon through the storm.
With her spell used, Remilia charged. The back of her shirt wrapped and expanded as her previously pressed wings tore their way through and the spine of one wing was thrusted forward to spear one ghoul in the skull. Her sharp claws swiped through skin and muscle as Remilia pushed them back, their ability to swarm her hampered by the railing of the stairs and each got in the way of the other. The hamstring of one was torn out and it fell back, ripped away but its fellow zombies as merely as an obstacle. Their attacks were furious, arms thrown wildly with boney fingers ready to pull the flesh toward to feast. But they were clumsy and telegraphed compared to the child, who danced away from the attacks and striked back just as quickly. But the monsters surged forwards, the vampire able to wound but rarely finish the blow while so limited without her flight, and once she had been pushed back to the top they would overwhelm her.
Were it not for the oncoming wall piano set to plow through them pushed towards them by Gin.
“Remilia!” He warned, but it was needless. Remilia had seen this, and with a practiced twirl the piano missed her by inches and obliterated the first ghoul it hit. Along with the others behind it. A cascade of horrible notes played as it toppled over the stairs, tightly strung wire stuck at random as it turned the stairs into a death zone and rested pitifully at the bottom along with a pile of bodies. The living now out a wall of their dead and they were ill fit for such more dextrous obstacles. It would takes some time for them to get over, and those that have survived and remain on the stairs were finished off with the heavier blows of shield fists.
Both of them bolted for the windows where the fire escape was as Remi had said. The glass was shattered as Remilia slammed the tip of her umbrella into it and she dived out. It was a few more cuts on her dress, but it was better than what the ghouls would do. Gin followed after, and looked up to see that there was actually more levels above them. He was ready to ask why they didn’t jump further, until his attention was taken with a quick jab with one of Remi’s nails and she pointed two bolts that held the fire escape in place.
It clicked. They couldn’t go down, the ravenous beasts were still below them and swayed around the building like water trying to go down a drain. But they could get across. With two hits from his powered attacks they bolts were knocked from the building, and he scrambled higher at the behest the vampire to get the ones there.
Remilia herself watched through the window they had crashed through, one hand held the railing tight as one foot on the wall. Their barricade did not last for long, but the simple minded creatures focused on what had brought them here and continued to run up toward the sound of Gin’s magnified voice. Some, perhaps those with some intelligence intact, twisted their body towards the little girl in the window and threw themselves across the room. But two more crack above the vampire’s head told her that it was here part and with all her might she still had the fire escape bent, with all its weight on only one set of support below and the primes dropped away.
Those underneath were crushed by a few hundred pounds of metal bars. With Remilia’s push, it leaned over across the street, a moan of creaking metal rang out until it slammed into the wall of the building across the street. The two held firm and scrambled for the top, an open window await them at the end. Once across, both of them shoved the fire escape away and let it crash onto the street below as they ducked into relative safety.
The room smelled of empty beer cans, used ammo casings, and cigarette butts, all of which here layered across the floor like an unseemly carpet. Four bodies sat in lawn chairs arranged in a semicircle in the middle of the room, wearing camo clothing and clutched high powered rifles close to them. A chalk board was near by, four names at the top and tally marks under each. They were kings and queens of whatever brief fantasy they lived in, but unfortunately none were as generous as a quick check over the wounds in their skulls meant their last shots were left for themselves.
“Okay, this gives us some breathing room. We can rest and-” Gin was interrupted as Remilia kicked down the door to the hallway and was already half way out “wait, where are you going”
“We have to leave. Something is chasing us” Was the vampire’s answer. Gin looked back. They had thrown the fire escape down specifically to avoid anything following them. But he could not see what Remi could see. The red chain that binded their fates to...something else. Something powerful. She was unsure what it was, but she knew what would happen if they stayed. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course” Gin answered immediately. Both of them have gone through too much together to not.
A backdoor at the ground level left them away from where the ghouls congregate, and ran for the tree line. The headed for the docks, and hopped that it would be their final destination.
RE: [4-] The Town - Karl Jak - 07-28-2016
Quote:Forgot to note this but Amber and then Gin and Remilia have left the Town
Quote:Deadpool
Hiro
Karl
They made it halfway through the suburbs when the engine failed.
After about fifteen minutes of decapitating zombies to power ballads from the 1980s, the trio found themselves in a useless car surrounded by a slowly accumulating mob of shambling creatures calling for their flesh.
After Deadpool dispatched the closest of the groaning critters, Karl shifted in his seat so he could look at both his boys. The executive flashed a coy smile. “We’ll have to take it on foot.” Reaching down under the driver’s seat, the man retrieved a designer machete—glistening steel and authentic leather grip.
“Is that from the new Gucci catalog?” Deadpool inquired.
Karl sighed and shook his head. “Chanel, White Lightning. Don’t insult me.”
Quote:These three have entered the Town, although they'll have to make their way on foot to the downtown area, where the bunker is located.
RE: [4-] The Town - Albert Wesker - 07-28-2016
Staggering out into the middle of the street, Colonel turned his focus this way and that, pointedly ignoring the booming voice down the road. His attention was occupied with other matters at the moment, and the echoing message currently drawing the attention of every undead thing within earshot was not one of them.
WARNING: SYSTEM THERMAL MARGINS APPROACHING CRITICAL LEVELS. OPERATING IMPAIRMENT IMMINENT.
The own perils plaguing his internal systems were far more paramount in his mind. The incessant warnings about the strange buildup of heat he was experiencing, along with the physical impairment in his joints — the grinding and screeching of distressed servos as he tried to move punctuated his thoughts angrily — was keeping him very much occupied. That, and the rather distressing number of wailing, screaming voices seeming to echo from every direction at once.
“We got company,” Abner commented dryly. “And I don’t think we’ve got the supplies for a party that size.” The sarcasm was diminished not only by the gravity of the situation, but by the ever-increasing fatigue setting in on the man, and the strange plague that had taken root in all three of them.
“Wh-Which way should we go?” Trent stammered feverishly, jerking his gaze back and forth to look both ways down the street.
The virtual soldier didn’t respond, too busy pondering over that very question himself. The combined haze clouding his vision, from the heat building up in his systems, the damage he had sustained and the static intermittently flickering across everything, made getting more than a general picture of anything difficult, but the path to their left seemed slightly more clear. Flashes of red split the dark night periodically in that direction, giving some reason as to why. It would be easier going to head that way, but…
All that noise and racket was a beacon, just drawing the deformed remnants of the town’s inhabitants to it, like moths to a flame. If they went that way and couldn’t find a way out — and fast — they’d be all but handing themselves to the horde closing in on a silver platter.
“Running out of time to decide here, terminator,” Abner muttered, hands slowly going for his blaster rifle as the sounds of pursuit and incoming ghouls grew steadily, alarmingly louder.
“I know,” was all the response that was offered from the machine.
“Well?!” Trent was now bordering on hysterical again, the looted gun he had been given clutched so tightly in his hands his knuckles had gone white.
Colonel reached down with his free hand, fumbling for something with stiff, barely-responsive fingers at the back of his belt. “The docks…” he muttered, words drowned out by the cacophony of shrieking wails. With a faint, inaudible click, something snapped closed around the navi’s wrist, and his arm emerged from under his cloak sporting a new piece of equipment fastened around his arm. Taken from the ruins of the radio station, during his examination of the various recording studios, it had been found in a cabinet marked ‘emergency contact supplies’. He hadn’t yet had a chance to test if it was functional, but now was as good a time as any. He needed to know if a certain individual was still kicking, as unlikely as it was for him to go down.
Nothing short of this entire island being vaporized would be likely to bring down the Dean of Security.
Turning back to the other two, he indicated the building in the distance, from which the message and ruckus currently attracting the ghoulish hordes was booming. “You heard the message. We have docks to find.”
Abner just groaned, but shook his head. “Shitty idea. Really shitty idea.” The pounding of footsteps finally reaching the audible range put off any further complains. “But beats standing around here! Let’s roll!”
Immediately breaking into a mad dash, away from the offending building, Colonel brought the device — apparently called a ‘pip boy’ — up, finally running it through its startup process. It took a torturously long time, or at least it seemed to, before the screen finally stabilized into a semblance of life and activity, awaiting further command. It seemed fairly robust, if primitive, and the outgoing transmission function was...not standard, from the looks of it. But it should prove functional. He keyed in the frequency he’d been given for Okor’s communication line, hoping it would go through. “Okor--” At first he was met only with static, harsh and grating, and he recoiled the arm bearing the device away from his features, scowling grimly. That was good news.
“Okor,” he started again. “This is Colonel. Do you read?”
There was an unearthly noise intermingled with the static that came back this time, sounding not wholly dissimilar to countless voices shrieking in agony, and the tortured groan of machines under great duress. But above it all came the rasping, nauseating rumble of the Dean of Security’s voice. ”Ah, Colonel. You yet remain...alive, on this island?” It was hard to tell if the plaguebearer was pleased by this information or not. ”What do you have to report?” Straight to the point. As expected, and hoped for.
“In the company of another prime and a secondary. Survivors from the crash.” No sense wasting anymore time than necessary. “Made it to a town, encountered difficulties. Undead, deformed and mutated people. Likely the town’s residents. Currently making an escape, headed toward possible escape from the island.” He briefly paused, his balance deserting him as his joints seized up and he stumbled, vision shimmering and wavering in the haze of heat now practically rippling off of him in the otherwise cool night air. “...what….what is your location?”
The response was not immediate, and was interspersed with more of the same: twisted, tortured metal and unearthly shrieking, almost drowning out the static and growling voice of the plague marine. ”We have encountered our own...mutations,” he commented. ”We are in a mine of some sort...below the island’s surface. Heading to the surface on an elevator now.”
A mine? Colonel’s expression twisted into a grimace. The radio DJ, Three Dog, had mentioned the mine specifically as one of the worse places on the island. “Affirmative. Should we divert course to the mines, and join with you?”
The final response was delayed, and when it finally did come the background noise had died down to some extent, but it still sounded like they were going through hell. ”I will contact you again when we reach the...surface,” came the succinct response. ”We have...a nuisance to dispose of.”
“Understood.” Colonel broke the communication.
“That didn’t exactly sound like good news,” Abner wheezed.
The war machine couldn’t deny that, but chose to simply divert it. “At least it wasn’t bad news.”
Quote:1168 words, according to on-site wordcounter.
RE: [4-] The Town - Deadpool - 07-28-2016
This was usually when Deadpool would abandon whatever associates he had, and let their struggles for life propel his own escape; but he needed the pair—they provided a consistent fodder for his outlandish humor (plus, having a black friend increased his street cred, and Karl provided him the exemption to make gay jokes without being labeled a homophobe).
Throwing his Hello Kitty backpack over his shoulder, the mercenary booted out his door, knocking down a duo of flesheaters—the slab of coated metal slammed into their chests—as he jumped from his seat.
”Geronimo!" he cheered, and looking back at his motley crew, he yelled, “Minoriteam, ASSEMBLE!”
Another ghoul came from his side, but he adjusted in time to run his katana through the snarling monstrosity's cranium, ensanguining his blade with its liquids. The partially headless creature dropped to the pavement like a toppled building.
Karl casually got out of the jalopy. A flesheater sprinted towards him like a maniac, but the executive simply kept his composure; when the thing got close enough, he stiff-armed it, and hacked his machete into the top of its skull. A torrent of blood shot from the wound as if the executive had struck oil, spraying his uniform with crimson, and transforming his white polo into some sort of hippie monochrome tie-dye. Karl scowled.
Hiro followed, pulling himself from the backseats and leaping from the jeep. The leather sheathe around his waist ripped as he drew the machete from it, bashing the edge into the face of the first unalive person hew saw. He reached a hand back into the jalopy to pull out a briefcase.
The item caught the mercenary's eye.
”What's in there anyways?” Deadpool inquired.
A naked flesheater raced towards his flank, but the mercenary made her deepthroat his sword. It exited through her crown, and ripped upwards as he retracted it, splitting the top part of woman's head, vertically. Her large breasts jiggled in place as she collapsed.
“Can we pick another time to talk—you always choose the worst times!” Hiro yelled.
It's a date!” Deadpool replied.
“Are White Lightning and Chocolate Thunder making dinner reservations without Daddy?” Karl spoke.
A flesheater tried to pin him against the hood of the jeep, but the executive shielded it off with his machete, then sawed the creature's throat until he felt the blade carve passed its cervical. More blood stained his attire, but this time he seemed to take delight in it.
Deadpool watched Karl with admiration; now that he wasn't the recipient of the executive's fury, he could appreciate it. The two of them shared an interest in mayhem. Prior to this competition (if he could still call it that), the mercenary always judged Karl through the spectrum of an ordinary rich sociopath, who would rather spectate carnage than involve himself in it. The mercenary had the wrong impression. Karl was a man who enjoyed violence in general—regardless if he were watching it on a wall of monitors, or experiencing it firsthand. It made him respect Karl more.
”You're gonna need a change of clothes if you plan on whining and dining me,” Deadpool jabbed at the executive. ”I know you're steaming about your outfit.”
“If you're going to play with the big boys then you have to accept that some of their fluids are going to get on you,” Karl quipped. “But keep an eye on your rear . . . seriously.” He gestured his head towards the mercenary's rearward.
A cold hand wrapped around Deadpool's shoulder; he winced as he felt a fingernail dip into the bullet cavity, reminding him of the .50 caliber he had taken earlier.
”NOO!” he cried. PINEAPPLES!
Swinging an elbow, he cracked the creature across the temple, jolting himself free. The ghoul staggered to the ground, falling and skidding on its hands. It looked back and revealed a mouthful of decaying teeth as it hissed.
”You son of a bitch!”
The mercenary clenched his katana with both hands, raising it above his head before he thrusted it into the creature's visage. He didn't cease until the recoil of metal against asphalt shook the hilt of his sword.
After disposing of another rotting ghoul, Hiro dashed away from the jalopy, and up the road; his briefcase dragged behind him, flailing like a flag in the wind. He touched the side of his visor with an index and shouted to his comrades, “I got the map right here; follow me!”
Karl and Deadpool trailed directly behind the bronze samurai, making haste up the street. Duplexes lined either side of the road, all painted in different bright colors, which popped in the lightless night. The mercenary envisioned the community as one that used to thrive (ordinary housewife Becky would cook dinner while watching little buckeroo Todd, as they both anticipated Dad to pull-up in the driveway), but some time before the survivors had arrived, the community vanished, leaving just hollow homes as monuments.
Quote:Site Count: 866
Round Count (by site): 2349
RE: [4-] The Town - Zack Fair - 07-29-2016
Abner shook his head. Colonel had managed to talk to whoever it was he’d traveled here with originally, but that hellish sounding being on the other end wasn’t exactly a comforting voice. Yet, it was supposedly the only other back-up they were going to get out of this insanity. As quietly troubling as it was, he didn’t have any real reason to distrust Colonel. That, and there were much larger issues to deal with.
They had to stop, just for a second. No one argued with it this time, not even Colonel. Trent collapsed to his knees panting, and Abner leaned against the wall of some building. Colonel appeared to have difficulty standing, too, but it wasn’t broadcast as widely as the others’ difficulties. The soldier navi merely placed his hand against another wall, and Abner could see the steam rising from him.
Fatigue had built into dizziness, and Abner was feeling disoriented. He was used to fighting through pain and exhaustion, at least. It didn’t get any easier or better, but at least he recognized the phases his body would go through, and how he would be affected. It could help him try to keep a handle on his situation. The immediate concern for him was, again, Trent. The younger boy looked like he’d never experienced such hardship, and for what Abner knew about Karl Jak’s secondaries, he very likely hadn’t.
The other concern was, of course, escaping the living wall of death that pursued them. They’d barely caught their breath, or whatever Colonel’s equivalent was, but it was already time to keep moving. Abner looked to a dumpster, and realized they could make it back to the rooftops from there. They’d only dropped to street level earlier because they had run out of directions to run. In this section of town, the buildings appeared to be connected, or at least held miniscule distances between them. It appeared they could cover a lot of ground up above it all.
“Colonel, Trent,” Abner said as he gestured towards the large container. Even speaking was a chore with his energy consumption. “We can get back on the roof off of that thing.”
“That would be a lot less corners for us to clear,” Colonel noted, thinking as tactically as possible. “It would accelerate our safe moving speed considerably.”
“Yea, but we’re right out there in the open,” Trent protested as he stood back up. “Everything can see us, unlike at street level where we can try to hide!”
Abner shook his head. “It would put a level between us and them. It’s not like those damn things are flying around.”
There was a beat as the trio considered that statement.
“They might be able to fly,” Colonel offered his updated situational analysis.
“Looking for a better idea, then,” Abner was quick to snap back, and Colonel shook his head.
“There isn’t one. We simply have to stay vigilant,” Colonel concluded, though it was obvious he was speaking to Trent more than Abner.
Sensing the direction of that statement, and also reserving his energy for the climb, Abner ignored the urge to say something unproductive. Instead he walked over and scaled the dumpster, and with a short hop caught the ladder of a fire escape. It took far more strength than he expected to pull himself up. Once he was on the metal balcony, though, he turned around and pulled Trent up, with the aid of a boost with Colonel. Thankfully, Colonel climbed up the same way Abner had, which was good since Abner had no idea how he would lift a being of pure steel.
They climbed the short staircase and found themselves on the roof of the second story, where they had a decent view of the immediate area. The roofs appeared connected most of the way to the docks, but there was some sort of awful racket coming from that direction, as well.
Abner paused. The echoes sounded so bad that he instinctively grabbed his rifle while he tilted his head. He glanced over to Colonel to see him curiously gazing towards the docks, as well.
“That shit doesn’t sound much better,” Abner admitted.
“No, it doesn’t,” Colonel responded, but shook his head.
“Christa should be setting off a signal, at any point,” Abner reminded his robotic friend, while they were on the topic of what the hell to do, now.
“Perhaps we should begin to make progress towards Okor,” Colonel suggested in response, trusting in who and what he knew.
“Didn’t you say the mines are just about the most dangerous place on the island, right about now?” Abner incredulously asked.
“Okor is one who would change that,” Colonel remarked, looking out into the dark fog. Trent looked over in confused awe at such a statement.
Abner was less impressed. “Adorable. Forgive me if I’m not convinced.”
“Guys…” Trent suddenly said, from outside both of their eyesight.
“It is prudent that we seek a destination that actually exists,” Colonel sternly reminded his fellow prime. “We do not know what this signal is, and we are already debilitated. We cannot keep this up.”
“Guys!” Trent was loud and assertive this time, which in itself immediately drew Abner and Colonel’s attention.
They could hear it now. The ghouls were below them, trying to climb up the building. In figuring their plan of action, they’d lost the lead on the abominations. Fortunately, the high ground was working in their favor, as the beasts couldn’t quite get to them. It left Abner and Colonel in agreement. Regardless of whether they would seek Christa or Okor first, the priority was to get moving.
Once more the three took off across the rooftops, fleeing the horde below.
RE: [4-] The Town - Hiro Protagonist - 07-29-2016
Minoriteam? Is this guy fucking serious?
The thought passed through Hiro's head as the three blood spattered travelers slowly carved their way past the suburbs. They walk-slash-jogged onwards, following Hiro's map readout. Those goggles had really come in handy numerous times, especially when they didn't have the luxury of pulling out Karl's paper map like a bunch of tou-
"Behind you, Mr Protagonist."
Hiro whirled, wincing as the stitches in his stomach tugged at his cauterized flesh, and severed a zombie's grasping arm. They had been traveling this way for some time now, cutting limbs and skulls in half with near surgical precision, heading ever onward while slicing at the undead monstrosities like some sort of neurotic combine harvester. "Thanks for the heads up, Mr. Jak....I really need some sort of proximity alert on these things." The hacker added it to the loooong list of things he needed to do when he got off this damn island, number one being a freakin' shower.
It was laboriously slow work; undead former citizens constantly coming towards them as they move. At certain points, the crowd of dead bodies becamebtoo thick and they had to fight back to back, like Karlie's Angels. More than once Hiro had been busy slicing off a zombie's cranium only to feel ragged, filth covered nails scraping across his bare skin. Deadpool and Karl would respond rapidly, lopping off the offending limb, and in turn the hacker would save their asses the next moment.
Blood ran down his wrists, both his katana and his machete dripping with gore. His compatriots didn't fare much better, zombified guts and bone shards turning them all into a sick Jackson Pollock painting. "How many.....people lived here, Karl?!" Hiro yelled as his blade separated another zombie's ribcage in twain.
"Oh, about 5,000!" The producer replied cheerfully. "We've killed about 150 by my count!" Both Deadpool and Hiro groaned. The hacker's arms were burning with exhaustion, and the stitches on his wound were starting to ache, blood seeping through the bandages of his former shirt. But there was hope. His map showed Karl's bunker less than a mile down the road. If they could just keep their whirlwind phanlax together for five more minutes, they would be safe....
RE: [4-] The Town - Karl Jak - 07-29-2016
End of Round 10
Quote:Deadpool has 'won' Round 10. Prize forthcoming.
Abner has been eliminate from final prize contention.
DP-Hiro -> The bunker is downtown in the town's largest building. It's a sprawling office complex. This bunker isn't underground, but it is instead concealed somewhere inside the building (like a panic room).
Red-Christa -> I had to edit your last post (Red). The library is in the town, rather than near the edges of it. The two of you will have to traverse into the actual ghoul-infested area before you reach it. Once you hit the library, we'll have to touch base about where to go from there so that I don't step over your non-DA-related plot.
Zack-Colonel -> I'm not sure where you guys are headed (whether you're going to the Mines, Christa, Docks, dunno), but just notify me when you decide on a destination (or if you just plan to avoid mauling death).
RE: [4-] The Town - Gildarts - 07-31-2016
Just as she spoke, a breath of steam coming from her parted lips, a loud, sudden Beeewwoooop! caused her to nearly jump out of her fur-covered seat. The eerie pitch brought Christa out of the clouds that her head was lost in and she felt the muscles of her saber-toothed steed hasten, nearly jostling her off her ride.
A silent wince held an everlasting clench in her face, where the pain hung heavy and wet, dampened by the blood of the dead. Her shoulder was throbbing and below her, Red’s paws were scuffing wearily against the ground; he could feel the ooze of his reopened shoulder wound trickle steadily down the back of his leg. As Christa fished out the radar, which was pinging fucking incessantly again, a big black square lay before them parting the trees. Beside it, another, until the tormented pair were delving deeper within the darkened city streets, paved with desolation and insidious shadows of forgotten smiles.
Deserted.
And it wasn’t just the empty creep of the night that gave it away. Christa knew for sure (from both her gut and her senses,) no one was sleeping. They strolled, this town had actual buildings, though it had little resemblance to home. “Red?” she asked, as though hoping his mind was still there, not taken, as Took’s had been, by the carnivorous island.
“Hm?” he huffed, barely getting out a breath around the fatigue now descending into the marrow of his bones.
“What the Hell is this place?” her tone quiet, “We’re on an island with cannibals and fucking rock monsters and it's like someone just decided to colonize, something’s wrong, my gut’s telling me-”
Red’s motion slowed to an alert stop as her voice was lost, as she turned her head over her good shoulder and froze as her fingertips hovered over the hilt of her knife. There had been something in the window, just there. A shadow? A doubt, slowly descended into an adrenaline dump, pumping fear through her veins.
Waiting there for a moment, she was unable to look away from the window that held too many lost answers. Who were the people who gazed outward from the other side? Once, perhaps a little girl had looked out, tugging her older sister’s shoulder while the milkman came, or when daddy used to come home, strolling down the street after work. Now, as she shined her flashlight she saw it was barren of all life and the answers she sought.
The sniper remained crippled by the reminiscence of sorrow, now held back the gentle ache of tears as she spiraled the loop of the iron key in her fingers. There were no monsters chasing her, there was no one behind that broken pane. There was no death to rise up against and face. Only her own, shitty reality.
Beewooop!
“Red, I need to sterilize this wound, don’t want to catch his crazy...” she said, trying to make a joke but her voice had been bleached by a dejected numbness of tone, “I’m going to check this house for a medicine cabinet. Then it looks like we’ve got our plate full, Abner’s here, as well as the library, then maybe we’ll see where this fucking thing is trying to take us this time,” her smile was as dry as the chapped skin of her lips, “Wonder which one we’ll find first?”
One foot touched the ground, firmly planting as the treads grated with the uneven edge of asphalt, next the stiff leg swooped over Red and as it touched the ground the sniper’s body collapsed. It only lasted a second and she put a hand up to bay the beast back, “I’m fine,” but the tortured waver in her voice told him the woman wasn’t. She used the support of Red’s shoulder to stand and it was then where he noticed a sour-smelling wound in her thigh that must’ve made it hard to move, let alone walk.
With a slight limp, Christa hopped the three patio steps. The house seemed normal enough to the lion, who eyed the gunslinger uneasily. There was no need to announce that he was going with her inside, they had been through this much together and he had just saved her life. She blinked the haunting ghosts of nostalgia as she twisted the brass doorknob. Unlocked. The pungent smell of decay barreled into their noses, “Helloooo?” she called out, just to be sure the place was empty and paused in the mudroom while her eyes snagged on a photo of the smiling family who owned this house. Where they were now, he didn't know.
“Layers and layers of lies... Betrayed by a sad glint in a child’s eyes,” she quoted without knowing it and then moved along, touching a few household knick-knacks along the way. As Red passed, he looked closer at the picture, wondering what had made her think that this family was unhappy. The smell of smoke filled his nose, his eyes burst wide open, “Christa?”
The blonde was in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and looking through the dim fridge with a flashlight. Between puffs she muttered softly, “I tried the switch. Power’s out.”
Red could taste the tar as it caked his lungs and through the boiling of his eyes, looked at the now empty carton discarded on the table, right next to a glass of goopy black milk and a plate full of moldy cookies. “I keep trying to wrap my head around what happened to this family, oh and, they aren’t upstairs, I would’ve heard them. So far as I can tell, they left with the oven still warm from the cookies they just made. Ever heard the story of Roanoke?”
Red shook his head, his eyes staying glued to Christa’s face in the lapsing darkness. She didn’t seem quite herself, though the same could have probably been said about him, “No, I thought you were getting medicine?”
“It’ll probably be in the cabinet upstairs, that’s where we used to keep mine,” she said in a rather chilly tone, “And my leg wasn’t quite ready to do the climb, listen, Roanoke was a story I heard, about, well, a whole town who just up and left without packing anything. The mystery is behind the most obvious question, what made the entire village just up and leave? For people, items hold sentimental value,” she looked down at the lit cigarette between her lips, slightly amused, since it was the only thing keeping her sane through it all. Or maybe it was the idea of him being so close.
“Anyway, you think you’d at least pack some canned food, if you’ve got a pantry the size of a walk in closet,” she pointed at it and continued, "When Abner mentioned the town, I thought there might be people, and maybe there are some yet, but I have this really nagging feeling in my gut, just keep your ears perked.”
Nanaki left the room, then Christa, with a c-c-click! and the door closed behind them, the smell of gas from the stove, not quite reaching Red’s smoke-filled nose.
Thud. Thud. Her lethargic steps carried her up the stairs like a slow drum-roll. With every pound of pressure she let weigh on her thigh, the pain struck her neck and shoulders, much worse than the arm hanging there in a splint and cloth bundle; worse even, than the half-chunk Took had taken of her. Motherfucker. She cursed to herself, blaming the heathen for what had been done to her even as she took a swift glance around the empty rooms of the house and then approached the only bathroom upstairs. She’d been right and the first aid kit had been left in the bathroom upstairs, “Guess we’re lucky for the supplies, but I’m not thanking Omni just yet, not until we get off this shithole of an island. Do you think Took was from this creepy little town?”
“Not sure, there’s no one around looks like it’s been deserted for decades,” he noted the dilapidated furnishings and the musty smell of decaying wood. Next would be the tricky part, it seemed, because she asked Red to go find a sewing kit. He delivered, the handle held by his mouth and she used his tail to sterilize the needle.
“Thanks, why don’t you go wait outside?” her tone smooth, “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“I collapsed on the mountain for five minutes and woke up just in time to pull a cannibal off of you, you’re insane if you think I’m leaving your side.” No, she was reckless.
“I turned the gas stove on in the kitchen,” she said through a mouthful of smoke and didn’t bother to regard Red’s exasperated expression, “I’m going to blow up this house, but before I do, I have to do a little sewing, won’t take long, I was just warning you ‘cause of your tail,” the tank she wore was ripped and bloodstained, the fabric easily peeled off of her, except where the blood had already dried like industrial glue on her skin. Red recognized the very human indecency that would be looking at a woman who was just wearing her bra and a sling over her torso and looked away from the mostly bruised skin immediately, she didn’t seem to care, since he wasn’t human enough to know where to look.
Christa’s hand was steadied by her next puff, while she found it a little difficult, to prop the flashlight’s beam directly at her wound without having it topple over the edge of the shelf perched on the wall. Red remained out of loyalty, which added an extra golden flicker to the room. “You know,” she said making conversation just before she winced at the acidic sting of peroxide on her leg wound, then her shoulder, “I’m totally stealing all their toilet paper before we leave.”
A few stitches, some gauss, and they were rolling. Both patched up and down the stairs, oh, and Christa now has a shirt on too, “I’ll meet you outside,” she said to him.
“No, let’s go.”
Their eyes met across the dark room and neither blinked, creating a stalemate. “This house is identical to the one my parents were killed in. Down to the fresh baked cookies, Red. If you look at the pictures, the kids are two little girls, one with brown hair, one with blonde, with a nose just a hair smaller than mine.” Christa continued, looking at the coal-filled fireplace. “First they shot them. My sister was shaking behind me, then, they strung them up in the fireplace and made them sizzle. I guess they thought they’d cremate them and save us the trouble,” Her eyes carried over Red’s shoulder, as though glimpsing at the memory.
“And you know, I couldn’t even use the antique pistol from the mantel because it only had one bullet. So I had to watch, and pray that neither came close to us, my fingers were trembling too much to shoot straight,” she spoke her deepest regret, “If only I could have saved them.”
Tick tock, tick tock! clicked the pendulum clock in the corner of the room. Red allowed a moment of silence and said, “There’s no one here left for you to save.” It was time for her to be done fighting the ghosts of the past, and instead, she had to let them burn.
The words slapped her in the face. She nodded and walked over to the fireplace picking up the gun that appeared to be from the seventeenth century, as she did, Red’s eyes widened as he saw an actual blackened toe sticking out from the coal-covered bricks.
“Let’s go,” she commanded, and Red went by her side, Christa flicked the cigarette to the ground and slammed the door and ran before the the house erupted into a blaze of fire. BOOM!
“Seems we have a pattern,” she smirked and bounced remarkably lighter, “Red, I’m going to ride you again, ‘cause I don’t think the stitches will hold... This’ll be a good signal, Abner said he was at the radio tower, but I don’t see anything tall around. Let’s keep heading in, I’ll load my gun with the heat seekers.”
Red’s fur was bristling. She searched for the reason and her jaw hung open wide as she watched, thankful she wasn’t on that damned street anymore. Drawing near to the heat of the flames were creatures darting fast across the street, they had shapes that were human, but over the sounds of the flames, only a chorus of gargling sounds could be heard. Christa dipped her head next to the cat’s ear and whispered, “Run.”
Instantly, they jolted forward, Red moved with such speed she hoped they could escape those monsters that seemed to keep emerging from no-where. One emerged from behind a shrub and apparently caught the scent of her fresh wound for it began to follow them taking uneven, twitching steps. She pat his back to tell him something was up, but there was no way she could snipe this enemy if she had to use two hands to hold on. “There!” she said as she spied a large building and Red carried them there.
They were just fast enough, the duo made it up the stairs with enough time for Christa to hop off and begin to barricade the door, unearthly knocking filled the halls of the giant room full of shelves. “What the hell were those things?” her voice echoed as her eyes fell on the cursive scrawl of the establishment's name, “Thank God for Saint Alighieri's”
The flashlight swung from side to side, blood written all over the walls and the bindings of the books in strange patterns. A trail of blood soaked into the carpet, leading across the room.
RE: [4-] The Town - Deadpool - 07-31-2016
The trio continued to run, wrapping corners and cutting through alleys as they pushed deeper into the city. Deadpool's boots bounced off of the concrete pavement, clapping in junction with those of his partners. The heels of his feet throbbed with pain. A mile—that's what Hiro said? With flesheating lunatics barreling out of every crevice of the metropolis, it felt like five miles.
The mercenary looked over his shoulder; peering through the hazy fog, he caught the gleam of red eyes. The flesheaters ran on all fours, galloping towards them as if they were one of those idiotic collections of friends that participated in the Running Of The Bulls.
“Aight Karl,” Hiro said, pacing his speech with his breathing pattern, “I can't get us any further; where's the bunker?”
“We're looking for a large office building, ladies—the type with hundreds of windows!” Karl exclaimed.
Near the end of an alley, he halted in his tracks to club a charging flesheater across the head with his machete. The creature wobbled on stubborn legs, forcing Karl to strike it again before succumbing to the side of the curb. Its brains looked like mangled lasagna.
“We make a left on the next street,” he said.
They bent the corner—Powertwink Blvd, the mercenary believed he saw on a street sign—and continued. The block they turned onto was rowed with adjoining homes, which towered three stories high; a few of the them had mom n' pop shops set up on the bottom floors.
They passed the block, making a right onto the next one. There they stopped.
Deadpool's eyes bulged as he stared ahead. A legion of flesheaters barricaded the road. Their eyes gazed back like a pack of starved hounds, displaying their teeth as they growled in a frightening harmony. He glanced over at his partners to see if they shared the same feelings of shock and anxiety, and they did.
“Any other routes, Karl?!” Hiro asked, gritting his teeth.
The executive turned to see the creatures behind them still nearing, strangling the intersection. “Looks like we're trapped!”
The mercenary surveyed the area for a means of escape; when he found it, a plan began to formulate in his head. ”Do you think they like Michael Jackson?” he inquired.
“We really don't have time for your babbling right now, Wade,” Karl replied. He had positioned himself to face their rear, machete clasped in both hands like a batter over home-plate.
”For real!” the mercenary retorted. He pointed a finger towards the ground. ”There's our way out right there, we just gotta buy some time.”
Karl and Hiro both glanced at what Deadpool's finger indicated—a cast iron manhole cover.
“Either of you fine boys have the strength at this current time to pry that thing out?” the executive scoffed. “While simultaneously defending yourself from cannibal-lunatic-zombies?”
”Just focus on getting in the manhole,” Deadpool answered; for once, a serious tone fell upon his voice.
The mercenary had a genuine plan, derived from a music video he watched in 1982 (back when mullets and jerry curls were the most popular hairdos, and women 'powdered' their faces regularly). He remembered the video fondly—the choreography, the lyrics, it was all permanently engraved into his memory. The King of Pop—in colors similar to the mercenary's, oddly enough—manipulated a horde of zombies; just through the power of song and dance, the undead were compelled to join him. There was the looming fact that Michael Jackson did so while also as a zombie, but technicalities were for pessimists.
Deadpool smiled beneath his mask, and flashed a wink at the executive. ”I'm gonna give these guys a thriller.” He sheathed his katana.
Karl nodded without hesitation. “If you want to risk your life trying to mimic Michael Jackson then be my guest.”
”Yo Hiro, here.” Deadpool took the backpack from his shoulder and tossed it over to the bronze hacker.
Hiro gave him a quizzical look, furrowing a brow over the top of his visor. “Why the hell you giving this to me?”
”It's got my buddy Sas in there,” he answered. ”I'll get it back from you when we rendezvous—I like that word, because it makes me feel sofisticatered.”
Hiro responded with a nod, and then joined Karl, who had already hunkered over the manhole and started the laborious work of lodging the lid free.
Deadpool extracted those memories of himself copying the Thriller dance moves. He began to implement them, switching to his side with an arm extended; nodding his head a couple times, he thrusted his pelvis forward as he began to gradually two-step forward. Those famous artificial bass and clap sounds circulated in his mind—duhdun-dun duhdun . . . clap!; duhdun-dun . . . clap!
The flesheaters encircled the trio, but did not yet attack. Instead, they stood around with mixed expressions of perplexity and curiosity smeared over their visages, returning some resemblance of humanity to them. Their growls turned into raspy hums.
The mercenary glided a foot forward, flaring his hands with flamboyant wrist flicks; he did it twice, then switched sides to repeat it. Damn he was rusty, and it didn't help that he was naturally a terrible dance, due to being white. Perhaps this was a scene better made for Hiro.
But it appeared to be working. One of the flesheaters, at the head of the horde facing Deadpool, bobbed its head stupefyingly. The two to his flanks joined him. Then the entire crowd began to participate. It was as if they were programmed to know the routine—the creatures replicated the next part of the dance, shifting laterally and stroking their hips upward before dipping their postures in a dramatic fashion.
In unison, Deadpool and the flesheaters threw out a trailing hand; wrapping the other around their crotches, they steadily thrusted their pelvises from the tips of their toes; they did it thrice. The mercenary went to jump and clamp—the start to the best part—, but the creatures beat him to it, landing into a horizontal slide, and shimmying their heads while holding their knees.
The flesheaters were ruining the best part of the choreography, by being more fluent in their moves than he was. Deadpool quit dancing and silently ridiculed the creatures, folding his arms across his chest.
”Hey, you gotta slow down!” Deadpool squawked at the crowd.
Anger festered his spirit, resigning him to an unpleasant spectator. He watched with flinching eyes. No back-up dancer would've ever boldly defied the great King of Pop in such a way, disrupting the rhythm of the choreography. And if one did, he was sure MJ molly-whopped him or her with his immaculate white glove until the fool gained some damn sense.
But the flesheaters paid him no mind, and kept on with the routine. They performed the climax of the dance, turning sideways and swinging their arms like a pendulum across their bodies, in clawing motions.
Deadpool had enough; in a fit of rage, he unsheathed his katana, decapitating the closest flesheater. ”How dare you continue without Michael Jackson!” he roared. ”SHARONA!” Another creature fell to the ground, beheaded.
The rest of the flesheaters stopped dancing. Their beady red eyes bulleted towards the mercenary, shooting looks of bile towards him. The growls from earlier reemerged, but more fierce.
Deadpool froze. Fucking temper—always getting the better of you, Wade, he told himself; for once, he acknowledged how insurmountable his odds of survival were.
The mercenary did not fear death—not before coming to the Omniverse, and not now. In fact, he loved death, literally (even had an intimate relationship with Death, once). The trouble distilling within him came from the uncertainty about if he would ever get his Sasuke doll back. He cared about the little darn thing like the pet that you often haphazardly neglect.
Deadpool glanced towards the manhole, and most of his worry subsided. Karl and Hiro had removed the lid, and escaped into the sewers, already long gone. The lid had fallen mostly back into place, but he noticed that a quarter of it was still exposed.
The mercenary eliminated the next forthcoming flesheater, and then retreated to the manhole. ”Shamble, shamble, as fast as you can,” he mocked; using his foot, he shoved the cover partially aside, and plunged into the manhole, ”you'll never catch me—I'm the mothafuckin gingerbread man!
Shout out to Gingy, by the way.”
Deadpool landed with a splop. Sewage splashed around him, soaking his legs in piss and liquid shit. Darkness suffocated the tunnel, but it was no worse than the visibility above ground. The only—obvious—inconvenience arose from the putrid odor of waste and fecal matter, drowning him from the calf down. It smelled like a crate of spoiled milk intermingled with a bushel of bad trout. But hell, he was alive, and the smell of that masked the scents of the sewer like lavender Febreze.
He thought about how Karl reacted to the smell and chuckled.
Quote:Word Count: 1563
RE: [4-] The Town - Hiro Protagonist - 08-01-2016
Hiro and Karl had dropped down the slimy, slick ladder as soon as Deadpool had lagged behind the bafflingly dancing zombies. The hacker shook his head in disbelief as the spandexed mercenary elected to distract the ravenous hordes with a Michael Jackson routine. This guy was unbelievable. Entertaining as all hell, but a complete and utter nutcase. The bright pink hello kitty backpack currently supporting the briefcase tied to his back was proof enough of that.
Luckily for his own boots and Karl's open toed sandals, Hiro knew how sewers were laid out. Just before the ladder hit the top of the festering runoff river that was its purpose, the nimble samurai hopped off to the side, landing on the upraised concrete walkway that served as banks for Shit Creek. Which they were most assuredly up without a paddle.
Flicking a setting on his HUD, the dark tunnels ahead of them lit up with a piercing blue light, giving them more than enough light to see clearly. Helping Karl off the ladder, Hiro quipped. "Y'know, people always said I was bright." The producer just smirked and brandished the designer machete, taking off down the mossy concrete walkway. "A delightful pun, Chocolate Thunder, but I suggest we get far away from here. There should be an access tunnel somewhere around here that connects to the machine rooms in the basement of our destination."
Jogging after Karl, his bright blue beams flashing over the slick walls and murky dark water below them, Hiro shot back. "Keep calling me Chocolate Thunder and your new name is Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity, Karl." As they escaped from the open manhole, the rhythmic shuffling and the faint sound of music grew farther and farther away. "You know I always stay fresh, Hiro."
They slowed their pace, creeping along the walkway, occasionally having to make short jumps across crumbled sections of old brick and stone. Once or twice the hacker thought he saw large, menacing shapes rising from the fetid river, but they just turned out to be trash bags, lumps of crap, or half a bloody torso. He was getting too jumpy in the dim, forbidding gloom. They needed to get out of here before he started hearing voices again.
-tap tap-
The producer was standing next to a mold covered metal door, a large ring handle situated in the middle of the door. On the door, in black lettering above a curious red and white circle emblem, were the words "UMBRELLA CORP. ACCESS RESTRICTED. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED."
Karl nodded to Hiro, who gripped the slippery handle with his gloves, straining as the rusty levers clattered and banged inside the door mechanism. After a full minute of twisting slowly, the door swung gently open. The hacker and the producer quickly stepped inside and shut the door behind them, although they left it unlocked. No telling if they might need to escape into the sewers again.
The door led into a small vestibule with another door a few feet away, the large pane of reinforced glass making up the top half of the door shattered near the handle....and a bloody, ripped hand impaled on the jagged shards, fingers just millimeters from the exterior handle.
"They were trying to escape...." Hiro kept his voice low, and holding his breath, gingerly reached for the knob and twisting it, expecting the hand to spring to life and grab him. Opening the door, he heard a thump against the wood of the door which explained why it had not. The arm the hand was attached to was just that, an arm ripped from the socket of a suspiciously missing torso. "Good lord.....who hired the decorator?" Karl whispered theatrically as they walked through a dead machine room, blood and flesh spattered and dripping across pumps, pipes, and the floor.
Hiro and Karl's shoes left footprints in the thick, congraled blood puddling on the floor, more than once having to sidestep a mutilated body part or bisected torso. Finally, they made their way to the other end of the rusty, bloodsoaked maze. Before them stood an elevator, with a large "Out of Order " sign on it. And a door marked "Stairway."
"Ah fu-"
Hiro had just opened his mouth to complain when a closet door ten feet away exploded into a cloud of splinters, and a shambling monstrosity lurched out into the machine room. What looked like two men dressed in bright green safety vests and hard hats stuck together at the back cartwheeled out of the doorway, their limbs strangely mutated into grasping, clawed suckers. Too wide mouths gaped menacingly, filled with razor sharp, needle like teeth.
"Hiro."
"Yes, Karl?"
"I think we should run."
"Yes, Karl, I agree."
The two made a mad dash up the stairs as the tentacled monstrosity gave a strangled, piercing roar and rolled after them.
RE: [4-] The Town - Deadpool - 08-01-2016
Deadpool waded the sewage as he traversed through the tunnel, swatting the air with blind hands to guide his feet forward. The farther he got from the manhole, the denser the darkness became; it got to the point where the mercenary felt as if someone taped his eyeholes shut.
”How does Stevie Wonder do it, man?”
About fifty yards in, the tunnel elbowed to the right. Deadpool crashed into the wall before noticing, dropping ass first into the waste. He partially caught his fall—if not for his hands, he would have taken a complete bath—yet still managed to get his entire crotch immersed; despite what he told everyone, his outfit was made out of a more leathery type material, and it absorbed the sewage like cotton. The mercenary wanted to make a snarky remark about his misfortune, but the discomfort of mystery liquids washing genitals stripped him of words.
Deadpool returned to his feet, and kicked at the sewage water as if it were to blame to his collision.
”Fuckin shit fuck stupid goddamn filth stew!” he rambled; though it wasn't the remark he had in mind, it relieved some of his irritation to vocalize the anger souring him.
After collecting himself, he navigated the turn and proceeded forward.
Over the next twenty or so yards, the mercenary ran into a series of pitfalls—portions of the tunnel's brick flooring that would sink once he stepped on it. He negotiated the obstacles with nimble feet, springing from the ground once he felt it crumble under his weight. Was it difficult to accomplish with submerged legs, and without his vision? Sure, but the surprise of having the floor collapse gave him the adrenaline to jump higher than Prince of Persia's nameless protagonist.
”ALALALALAHBALALALA!” he yelled, each time he avoided a pitfall. It was his best interpretation of an Arabian battlecry.
The mercenary wondered how Karl trudged the passageway with those dorky strap sandals on. He probably did so reluctantly, as he watched his the sewage stain the Chanel logo pattern across the bands of his sandals. Anything that involved Karl's displeasure brought a smile to Deadpool's face, and this time was no different.
The next couple dozen of yards went by uneventfully; he had grown slightly accustomed to walking without his vision, sensing the next turn before it arrived; the leg-high sludge gradually lessened to ankle-high sludge, improving his pace. His foot would occasionally stumble over an unknown mass, but it felt soft . . . like the flesh of a person.
”What would a sewage tunnel be without a few body parts just scattered along the way?” Deadpool asked, paused, then answered: ”Not any tunnel I'd want to travel.”
Ahead, the mercenary could see a creek of light seeping out from the bottom of what he presumed to be a large door. About damn time, he thought—light, finally. He walked towards it with rejuvenated energy, and knocked against the surface when he arrived.
”Honey, I'm home!” he shouted.
Deadpool had just enough visibility to see an arching handle sticking out near his midsection. He grabbed the handle and pulled. It took more strength than he intended, but the door swung open. Hiro must have left it unlocked for him; bless the black guy's heart. Deadpool locked the door behind himself. No guests were welcome.
The place he entered was merely a narrow hallway. A single florescent bulb mounted to the ceiling bathed it in a strong white; the contrast in scenery burned and dazzled the mercenary's eyes.
When his vision improved, he saw another door in front of him. The upper window had been shattered. Jagged shards of glass protruded from the door's metal frame, drenched in blood. A dismembered arm reached out from the interior, curling two stiff fingers around the outside handle—whomever it belonged to was trying to escape, not enter; whatever killed him was large enough to swallow the remainder of his body whole.
”Out the frying pan and into the fire, huh?” he said.
Quote:Round Total: 2258
RE: [4-] The Town - Albert Wesker - 08-01-2016
Unsteady and lurching steps carried the soldier machine across the rooftops. The haze of heat from an impossible infection clouding his vision just as much as the damage to his systems did, making every step a precarious endeavor, and each harrowing transition from rooftop to rooftop an ordeal that would have been terrifying, if such emotions had registered to his perceptions at all. As it was, it was only a concern that he might get slowed down enough, or suffer one final jolt to his already damaged internal systems in the fell that might spell his doom. As sluggish as he was starting to become, if the encroaching ghoulish horde caught up to him one more time and overwhelmed him, he wasn't entirely sure he could get out of that predicament again.
"So, wh-" Trent tried to get out, only to catch himself as he stumbled over the rough landing between buildings. "...where are we...headed? We...we can't just...keep running!"
Now that was something that Colonel dearly wished he had a satisfactory answer to. They had several options open to them, none of which were all that appealing given the sheer amount of unknown still lurking among every choice they could have made.
They could continue on their insane, desperate flight, trying to find somewhere safe to hole up, even for a few moments, and just think clearly. It was certainly enticing. The prospect of some actual downtime, and relative safety, after their nonstop, pell-mell dash from death itself was certainly a pleasing one. Even an hour or two, to sit down, rest, and just...well, though it would do the soldier navi no good, just to have a moment to breathe might do Abner and Trent a world of good. A sharp, pained wheeze as the secondary clutched at his side, clearly in discomfort, drove the final nail in the positive side of that argument. But there was just as equally everything wrong with the plan. The odds of finding somewhere in this town that was reasonably secure, given what they'd been through so far? It didn't take NumberMan to calculate that they weren't great. That plan was out.
They could try heading toward the mines, and meeting with Okor. The festering, noxious giant was many things, but the type of being to let something like this island beat him he was not. Whatever danger there had been in the mines, it had by this point likely been dealt with in suitably grisly fashion by the menacing titan, or had failed to stop him getting through it and now making his way back to the surface. If they could meet up with him, the Dean of Security would be an invaluable ally against anything else this island could throw at them. The only issue would be getting to him. And there had been one crucial detail missing about the mines: where, exactly, they were, beyond 'on the outskirts of town'. It would be a wild stab in the dark to try and find them, and that effectively enough shut down that plan, too.
The docks...weren't all that appealing, either. The message, giving notice that there was apparently some means of rescue or escape from the island there, certainly was appealing enough. Getting the hell off this island was certainly among the top priorities of everyone still alive on it, without a doubt. But it seemed...too simple, somehow. Anyone on this island with a way off wouldn't have been likely to stick around and offer anyone else a way off with them. Not with things literally falling apart as they seemed to have been doing for quite a while now. Which left the options of it being an elaborate trap, set by...someone, or something, with dangerous intentions, or the last message of someone who had long since left the island, or never made it off the island. The loud, echoing sounds of what was unmistakably combat didn't make matter sound much more promising there, anyway. They had more than enough in the way of combat to deal with, right here.
Which left them only one option that made any sense: keep a look out for this signal that Abner had mentioned this Christa would set off. It was the least certain of the options they had available to them, but it was, paradoxically, the one that offered the greatest chance of success, and was least likely to turn overwhelmingly poor for them immediately. Any sign that was set off with the attention of drawing attention to it would be hard to miss, in this dead town, and would give them a clear location to go toward. Of course, it would also unquestionably draw the ghoulish hordes right to it, like moths to a single flame in a dark room. It was a point toward the negative side of things, but the prospect of meeting up with more survivors — assuming Christa had any other allies with her, that is — and strengthening their dwindling forces against the seemingly endless mutated islanders was a strong incentive toward the positive side of things. Anyone who could survive this long on some place so inhospitable was bound to be a strong ally.
"We keep moving, until we see the signal..." Colonel finally spoke up in response, turning a very pointed look toward Abner. "...that should be sent up in short order."
"That...that isn't a plan!" Trent wailed. "That's just...blind running and hoping!"
"If you have a better plan, I'm listening." The robot's tone was cold, and the secondary visibly flinched in response, lowering his head slightly. A bit harsh, perhaps, but there wasn't any time for being nice. And being wishy-washy wasn't something that he'd ever had the patience for. They needed to keep moving, and have a definite goal in mind, even if it was one they couldn't follow through on. They couldn't afford to waste time on--
He was interrupted, or perhaps more appropriately, distracted, by a sudden thunderous boom in the distance. Everything went quiet for a moment, as even the horribly deranged, twisted inhabitants of the town were drawn to stare at a huge plume of fire that briefly lit up the night.
"....yeah, that looks like a signal, don't you think?" Abner was the first one to speak up about it, as the explosive blaze of light started to dwindle, and all hell broke loose once again, as it seemed like every zombified ghoul within earshot and beyond let out a shrieking howl in unison.
"It does. Now move!" Colonel said sharply. They had a destination in mind now, and that was every reason not to waste any more time running aimlessly. Especially with a horde of flesh and violence-hungry abominations now racing them toward their goal, and none of them being in much of a fit state to be going anywhere quickly.
"If we get out of this...remind me to never come back here!" Trent gasped. "Because this...sucks!"
Abner almost laughed. "I think we're all in agreement there, buddy!"
Quote:1207 words, by on-site wordcounter.
RE: [4-] The Town - Zack Fair - 08-02-2016
Abner couldn’t help it. A big dumb grin was plastered across his face as they ran. He could take a moment to forget about the ghoulish zombies, the sudden deathly fever, and the entire creepy, deserted town. Christa said she’d make a visible signal, and goddammit if she didn’t blow up half of the city in the process. What else should he have expected? Some things just never changed, and in the middle of this crossbreed of at least three different types of apocalypses, that was a welcome treat.
There was a haze in his vision, and his senses seemed dulled. He had just enough clarity to recognize that he probably wasn’t actually thinking all that clearly. Running across rooftops like this would normally still be a pain in the ass, but at least not this bad. It didn’t stop him from lighting another cigarette during their run, however. He needed something to keep him going.
There was a gasp from the back of the group, and Abner turned to see that Trent had fallen. Colonel leaped to the next building before turning and noticing that something was amiss. Trent’s moans turned to screams as he was suddenly pulled backwards, towards the ledge. Abner then noticed a slimy tendril that must have grabbed the young secondary as they crossed over an alleyway, and was trying to drag him over the edge. Abner raised his rifle as fast as he could, and fired three shots, only severing the tentacle on the third blast.
“Come on, kid!” Abner shouted as he pulled Trent to his feet.
“They’re gaining on us. They’re getting closer,” Trent wheezed out, struggling to gain his balance.
“Not this again,” Abner muttered, patting the kid on the shoulder. “You’ve got to keep going.”
“I know. I know,” Trent seemed like he was encouraging himself just as much as he was agreeing. He gave a firm nod.
Abner was pleased to see the level of confidence the young man had reached. It was clear that Trent was starting to understand that Abner and Colonel didn’t have a clue what to do, either, and that they were simply doing what they could to survive. He had a long way to go to reach Abner’s level, but the old Stormtrooper didn’t really wish that on anyone.
Just as he was ushering him towards the next jump, so they could catch up with Colonel, a strange humanoid leaped from the side, blindsiding Abner with a full body tackle. Already weak from his feverish symptoms, Abner considered himself lucky to still be on his feet. He pushed back the being back, then stepped towards it and delivered a powerful punch to its face.
This ghoul’s skin was deteriorating, and its eyes were pale white. The creature’s mouth hung open as it searched for flesh to devour. Joints seemed to be flimsily held together, as Abner could see the tendons, though it clearly didn’t inhibit the monster’s ability to move. It was just so damn creepy that Abner couldn’t help but punch it again.
His fist connected with the being’s cheek, and its head spun a full circle on its already shredded neck, coming to a rest where it was facing Abner, still. Trent stumbled back in terror, while Abner cocked a bewildered eyebrow. The surprises never stopped on this island.
The ghoul took this opportunity to tackle Abner, knocking him to the ground. Abner mashed his thumbs into the deformed man’s eyeballs, then gripped the side of its face. The ghoul paid no mind to the attack, instead pushed against Abner’s hands. In his own weakened state, Abner couldn’t hold the creature back, and could only watch as it’s maw closed in.
But before it could rip into his neck, Abner instead watched its brain explode out the side of its head. He assumed Colonel had arrived just in time, so he pushed the corpse off of himself, counting his lucky stars over that escape. To his great surprise, Colonel landed on the rooftop just as he was standing back up. The soldier navi silently ran past him and activated his energy sword, decapitating three ghouls that had managed to climb up.
That only left one other explanation. Abner looked over to see a wide-eyed Trent holding his still smoking pistol, staring at the ghoul’s corpse in shock. The secondary had actually shot it, and saved Abner. He couldn’t believe it. He was sure Colonel couldn’t either, but the cyborg was clearly too busy with the approaching horde to fully comprehend Trent’s actions.
“Good work, thanks!” Abner sincerely said, then turned and looked to the smoke once more. “Let’s go, Colonel!”
Just as soon as he spoke, Colonel disengaged from the climbing monsters. The soldier navi wordlessly resumed his charge towards what had become the largest smoke signal in the town. Trent tucked the gun back in his waistband and ran after him, and Abner was in hot pursuit.
Sure, the secondary had saved his life, but Abner was a bit ashamed, and a little disappointed. The Omniverse was filled with killers and cold hearted people. He’d put the gun in Trent’s hand, and now the boy had taken his first step towards joining the rest of them.
RE: [4-] The Town - Kenpachi Zaraki - 08-02-2016
Red lay slumped upon the library’s carpeted steps, run thoroughly ragged. His lungs spasmed in his chest in a lackluster attempt at feeding his body enough precious oxygen to keep up with the amount of effort he had just exerted. While Christa tried her hand at barricading the door, he could do nothing but feebly attempt to catch his breath while his muscles screamed in protest. Several of his wounds had reopened, the crimson smiles leaking sticky drool upon his pelt. The feline barely noticed; by this point he had adjusted to the burning pain, to the uncomfortable feeling of fur knotted with dried blood. The beast simply looked on as his former passenger sealed the doorway as the sounds of their pursuers grew still louder. Several broken bookcases and desk fragments later, the booming sound of fist on oak had grown only intensified, just barely drowning out the sound of fingernails scouring the door.
“The undead,” Nanaki replied breathlessly, “if I had to guess.” The canine had had more than a few run-ins with such otherworldly monstrosities. As much as he generally cared little for humans, he very much preferred the living variety.
“No surprises on this island,” Christa responded, only half-sarcastic. Her eyes fell upon the streak of blood painted upon the polyester canvas upon which they tread. She shook her head slowly, as though her defiance might cause the smear to disappear. “Let’s get away from the doors. Thankfully the windows are high enough that we shouldn’t have a problem.”
Red nodded, struggling against his stiffening joints to rise and follow behind the woman. Despite his wishes, his limbs could scarcely carry him in a straight line; the sudden explosion of vigor had done him no favors, though he had to count “not being eaten alive by unholy abominations of un-nature” as a plus. Still, convincing himself of this fact did not calm his pulse, nor did it steady his wavering gait. The room seemed to bob and weave before him, as if Christa and the remainder of the furniture were performing a particularly terrible dance for his bleary eyes.
“I wonder what happened here,” the blonde muttered aloud, stepping over an overturned desk. Beside it lay a modern-looking computer, though the cracked screen told them it would be of no use. She reached into her pocket, silencing the chiming of their GPS tablet. They wouldn’t be needing it for the time being.
“Nothing good,” Nanaki replied, unhelpfully. It was hard to not come across as curt when one could barely see straight. “We should probably head for the basement.”
The gunslinger eyed him uncertainly. “That would be a safer place, but I don’t really want to get trapped here. And that trail of blood isn’t making me feel any more comfortable. We should just search for anything that could be useful and hopefully our friends outside will find dinner elsewhere.”
“Right,” Red replied. The sounds of the macabre mob had only grown louder, the heavy wooden door now all but shaking upon its hinges. He wasn’t so sure it would be that easy; not in a timely manner, anyway.
The duo continued their perusal of the premises, noting the definite signs of a struggle, as if the scarlet paint job didn’t do enough to prove that. There was not a single piece of furniture in the building that had not been mangled or upturned in some manner or fashion. Noting the sheer size of the library, this was quite an accomplishment. Row upon row of bookcases were emptied, their contents de-shelved and de-stroyed upon the filthy carpet. As they neared the center of what they imagined was the lobby, a spark of hope lit within the lion’s breast. A lone computer terminal stood upon a battered desk, mostly intact save a lopsided, darkened monitor. Christa reached behind the device, jostling the wires until the screen finally sprang to life.
St. Aligheri Community Library Directory
Basement: Children’s Books
Floor 1: Lobby and Reference
Floor 2: Media Center
Floor 3: Fiction
Floor 4: Nonfiction
Floor 5: Exhibition
Floor 6: Exhibition
Floor 7: Exhibition
Floor 8: Offices
Hours: M-F 0800 – 2000
Closed Christmas
Basement: Children’s Books
Floor 1: Lobby and Reference
Floor 2: Media Center
Floor 3: Fiction
Floor 4: Nonfiction
Floor 5: Exhibition
Floor 6: Exhibition
Floor 7: Exhibition
Floor 8: Offices
Hours: M-F 0800 – 2000
Closed Christmas
“It won’t get off of this screen,” Christa remarked in an annoyed tone. She slapped the monitor firmly with her good hand before tip-tapping on the keyboard for a few moments. Despite her best efforts, the information on the display remained unchanged. She gave an exasperated sigh, pushing the peripherals away in disgust. “It’s toast.”
“So, where should we go now?” Red inquired. Though his body was finally beginning to return to pre-zombie-sprint levels, he’d leave the thinking to the huntress for the time being. A library was a very human place, after all.
“Well, it’s pretty obvious that this floor is trash,” the gunslinger stated, gesturing to a desk behind her that looked to have been torn in half down the middle. “Let’s take a look in the media center. Maybe the computers there are less fucked. Could tell us where the vault or whatever is.” She fingered the key in her pocket.
As they found their way through the lobby, Red noted a peculiar look on the woman’s face. He could only assume that their experience at the recently-detonated house had left an impression upon her. At the time, the burgundy beast had not quite understood her oblique statements, though he knew enough to understand the place held some significance deeper than the superficial. He hoped that whatever Karl had in store for her could bring her come kind of closure, however unlikely it may be.
“The trail of blood...” Christa began, staring down at the dried scarlet smear. “It leads right to the elevator.” Her eyes followed the stripe straight to the dented metal doors of the lift. She blinked a few times, thinking for a few seconds before gingerly tapping the call button. A moment’s pause and nothing later, she turned to Nanaki. “Stairs it is.”
Their footsteps made not a sound as they ascended, their footfalls muffled by the veritable sea of books that littered the steps. The thick wooden banister that supported the structure was shattered and splintered in many places, giving the shorter of the duo a feeling of vertigo as they climbed. Heaving the door open on the second floor, red and blonde strode into the Media Center, eyes scouring for any hint of a clue.
“Things don’t look too much better here,” the huntress griped, staring apathetically at a mound of mangled machines. “This almost looks to be intentional sabotage.” She turned to focus a confused glance on a row of computers, each perfectly positioned and untouched other than a fist-sized hole in the center of each screen. It was as it someone had gone down the line and deliberately broken each, the last act of perhaps a particularly petty employee.
“I’m starting to see a trend,” Red responded, tilting his head toward a workstation cluster that looked to have been set ablaze at some point, the desks thick with char and the monitors’ plastic casings melted.
“There’s got to be something here,” Christa said, clasping her hand tightly around the key within her pocket. Their search, however, turned up nothing more than shattered screens, fried devices, and decimated furniture.
As they returned to the stairwell, the crimson feline noted that the sounds of the pursuing undead seemed to have all but stopped, a silence now hanging over the library. It had seemed Christa’s idea of leaving the cretins to lose interest on their own time had worked. Though they were by no means safe, it was good deal better than feeling the weight of anxiety on their shoulders as bony fists pounded against the inside of his skull. “Quieter now,” Nanaki observed, hoping to make his companion less tense.
The huntress nodded vaguely, taking the steps two-at-a-time. She was determined, perhaps to find the sister she had spoke of, else the person she has conversed with back at the bunker. Either way, she showed no signs of fatigue as they trekked up the stairs, skipping past the next two floors in no time at all. Only upon reaching the fifth floor did they stop, pushing the door open once more. “Exhibits?” she finally spoke, inquiring of no one in particular.
As they stepped onto the fifth floor, Red felt an uncomfortable sensation fall upon him. He stood on faux grass, a material that literally carpeted the entire floor wall-to-wall. All around was a strange assortment of images and dioramas, each depicting some image of a particular group of native people. Not far from where he stood sat an enormous skeleton, assembled and hung from wires to give the impression of a ‘living’ creature. Beside the specimen stood the wax figure of a man, a determine expression shaped into the wax as he held his spear at the ready, facing off against his foe. The bones at the man’s side formed the shape of a familiar-look animal: A lion.
“Some kind of native peoples’ exhibit, I guess,” Christa said, scratching her head. She wasn’t quite sure what this could possibly mean for the anthropological history of the island.
The burgundy beast stared at the exhibit for a long time, trying to place what it was that was causing such an odd feeling to stir within him. Nanaki stood approximately equidistant from both man and beast, just as he always did, in some way or another. He found it hard to look upon the two, the victim and the victor, with any kind of ambivalence. There was something about seeing a skeleton so closely resembling his own that repulsed him in more ways than he cared to admit. Surely, seeing his ‘insides’ was unsightly, though he also found himself detesting that he was made of the same lowly stuff that had lead to being slaughtered by the human beside it. Still, he felt no satisfaction in looking at the man, either. He was not proud that man had triumphed over beast, not in the exhibit nor truthfully in his own psyche. Though man had trumped beast in this mock-up, it had been the beast who had carried Red this far on the island. How many times had he tasted blood since his arrival? How many lives had he ended? The thought both calmed and terrified him, repulsed and attracted.
“Nothing useful here either,” the gun-woman announced, strolling away from a large hide-covered hut. She paused. Killing is still as fucked up as it was millions of years ago.”
Red dutifully followed Christa back to the stairwell, knocking over books as they made their way still higher. The image of the predator and his prey remained fresh in his mind, the uncertain feeling settling into his own bones. It was one thing to be uncertain of companions and quite another to be unsure of oneself. Just then, he could honestly say he’d bet on the gunslinger before himself. Before boarding the plane to the godforsaken island, he’d been quite sure of himself and who he was. It took not even a day in the wild to shake this belief to the core.
“I’m going to assume this exhibit won’t be helpful either,” Christa monologued, leading the way past the door with a large ‘7’ over it. A quick peek through the glass showed what looked to be a large spacecraft, alongside which stood a pair of empty white suits, bulky and adorn with matching visors. “Floor 8 it is.”
As they reached the final floor, the duo took pause. The final floor; if it too were vacant and ransacked, they’d simply wander back out into the night, hoping beyond hope that the ravenous undead had laid back down in their graves to sleep off their hunger. Though the sounds of struggle had ceased, the burgundy beast knew that predators often stalk unnoticed. Were they truly safe? His mind flicked back to the image still fresh in his mind: The beast from his dreams. Would he become it, become like them, were he to fall? Would he destroy Christa just as he had felled Vincent? His mind raced and his heart pounded as Christa pushed the door open. They were immediately met with a hallway, down which they could spy a plethora of what they could only assume were offices. At the far end of the hallway a door stood ajar, a modicum of light causing the archway to stand out among the rest. At the sight of working electronics the duo made a bee-line for the room.
“Son of a bitch,” Christa said, incredulous. She pointed to a plaque on the wall beside the open door.
Karl Jak
They quickly pushed past the door into the executive’s office, leaving the door wide open behind them. The room was exquisitely furnished, as if the decorator (likely the man himself) had spared no expense in the name of luxury and extravagance. The room reeked of cologne and furniture polish, the desk and floor immaculately clean. A crystal decanter of some amber liquid-- top-shelf, of course-- sat beside a neat stack of paperwork weighted down by a tiny stone mock-up of The Thinker. The artist behind this version, however, had put significantly more detail on the...nether region. Behind the desk on the far wall hung a massive portrait of the late Producer, wearing the trademark smarmy smirk. The image looked almost alive, it was done so well.
“Of course the bastard has a picture of himself hanging in his own office,” the blonde said, shaking her head. “A little lopsided, though.” She approached the picture and grasped it by its frame, ever so slightly shifting it upon its anchor. No sooner had she laid hands upon the frame did the fixture come loose from its mooring, the sheer weight knocking the wielder backward onto the mahogany desk.
Red trotted forward to assist his comrade in removing Karl’s enormous grinning mug from atop her, though he stopped short. “Christa,” he said, eyes widening. “I think you just found where your key belongs.”
Quote:2385 words. #lastminute
RE: [4-] The Town - Hiro Protagonist - 08-02-2016
Two floors above Deadpool, Hiro and Karl were charging up the stairs for their lives. Each doorthey had passed on the stairwell landing had either been locked, or had another one of the horrifying chimeric monsters bust out of them, forcing them to increase their speed. Four more flights of stairs and they were both exhausted. Karl didn't show it, but the hacker could see him lagging behind and sweat beading on his forehead.
"Karl, we're gonna have to make a stand, sooner or later."
The producer nodded in agreement and chanced a look behind him. "This landing coming up would be the time to do it; they're a floor below us." As they crested the top step, Hiro rapidly put in a few commands on his wristcomp. The sequence initiated, just as the first of the monsters rounded the bottom of the staircase. Karl winced as the thing leapt, coming towards them with tentacles outstretched.
-VVWWIIZZT-
"SKKKRREEEE!!!!"
A clawed tentacle thrashed around their feet before Hiro swiftly chopped it in half with his machete. Around them, a pulsing green lattice of energy made a wide cage, barely budging as the mutant threw itself against the wall blocking the stairwell. One of it's limbs was truncated, having been caught in the shield's perimeter as it formed. "Okay, Karl. This doesn't last long so get ready. I bought us fifteen seconds at max."
The producer frowned and held up a finger. "Wait...listen." Hiro drew his katana, but strained to hear. Over the sound of his vector shield humming, and the creature's wet clicking, he heard a voice.
"Watashi wa baka gaijin!"
-shing- -slice- -thump-
Hiro shook his head. Man, what goddamned timing. Hiro was beginning to have a bit more faith in the red mercenary. He'd saved their asses twice. This guy was definitely getting his incredibly girly backpack back.
Twisting his hand around the katana, he watched as the shield flickered, nearing the end of its charge as the monster attacked the solid wireframe once more. Karl wiped a bit of blood off his machete on the side of the cage, while remarking. "I shouldn't exert myself too hard, Mr Protagonist....it sounds like Wade has the rest of them covered." The samurai turned over his shoulder and shrugged. "Yeah, but now he's just making me look bad."
The sound of boots coming up the stairs drew his attention. Just as the shield dissipated, and Hiro swung his katana high at the conjoined monster's body, he saw the shiny flash of another blade swing low, slicing through its bottom half.
"RYUU GA WAGA TEKI WO KURAU! Oh, hey guys. You can thank me later."
RE: [4-] The Town - Karl Jak - 08-02-2016
End of Round 11
Behind the oil painting of Karl Jak was a little metal door with a single keyhole in the handle. It didn’t take Christa long to slid the iron key into the lock, turn it, and relish a little at the pleasant sound of the tumblers sliding into place. Grabbing hold of the handle, she pulled open the small safe and started to rifle through the contents of the guarded box. After removing a few bottles of wine and some other dubious-looking objects, the sniper pulled out a black plastic rectangle with a label. Part of the small container was transparent, and she could see what appeared to be part of a hard drive wrapped in shiny black ribbon.
“What is that?” Nanaki asked as Christa turned over the plastic rectangle in her hand.
“A BetaMax.” The sniper remarked as she glanced at the label. “There’s a message on it,” she added as she showed her companion the box.
Red furrowed his brow as he read out loud for the both of them. “Play me. Smooches.” The feline glanced up at the sniper and tilted his head. “That has to be Karl, right?”
Christa scowled as she glanced around the office. In the corner of the room was an old-fashioned television set with a large plastic box beneath it. A flap on the front of the contraption had been held open by two pieces of sparkling purple tape. On top of the container was a sticker of large, purple lips surrounded by hearts. “This must be a recording or something.” Christa said as she walked over to the old machine and pressed a button marked with a purple heart. A series of lights popped up across the display, and the television set woke up and started to spew soft static noises at them.
Although he had a few questions, Red kept quiet as he watched Christa feed the plastic device into the machine. The sniper poked another overtly labeled button and stepped back as a grainy image of Karl appeared on their screen.
“Did you figure it out?” Karl asked toward the two primes as he took a few steps away and waved toward them. “I’m going to assume that I have Christa and Dog watching me, so I’ll cut to the chase.”
“Can he hear us?” Nanaki asked softly as the Karl on the screen walked away only to return a few moments later with a reclining leather chair.
Christa shook her head and pointed back toward the door. Red glanced over and saw that the same exact chair was resting against the wall beneath a bookshelf. “Who knows how long ago he filed this, though.”
“Just a moment!” Karl shouted from off-camera before returning again with a bottle of merlot and a very large glass. Once he poured himself a gracious portion, he gestured to something neither of them could see on the frame. “You can help yourself to the rest of my stash, if either of you feels the need. It’s a lovely little vintage.”
The two primes scowled as the man settled into his chair and crossed his legs. After taking a slow sip from the wine, he set it on an end table next to this seat. “Now… if you’re watching this, it means that I am no longer among the living.”
For a brief moment, Karl’s face seemed dead serious, but after a pregnant pause, the executive threw his head back and let out a series of manic chuckles. Once he composed himself, he fixed the ruffles in his suit and looked back at his audience. “Apologies, but I’ve always wanted to do that. You understand, right?”
The smirk that Karl gave them made it clear that he knew his audience. He proceeded to clear his throat and point at something in his office. “Offices are so stuffy. I can’t believe he convinced me to work this gig. You might not know this about me, but I love the outdoors. It’s right up there with ‘backdoors’ when you discuss my favorite doors,” Karl winked and took a sip of wine. “When I was an intern, they had me do marketing for some camp for teenagers and kiddies out in the boondocks. You would have liked it, Dog, but I think our mutual friend probably would have sunburned.”
Red glanced up at Christa. “Why does he a—”
“Hey!” Karl suddenly interrupted before snapping his finger. “If our time here ever winds up with the public, I think the two of you and your gender-bending performance if ‘I am Legend’ would be the talk of the Dataverse… I need to make a note to make money off of that.” The man shifted in his seat as ideas swirled in his head. Before he got too lost in the potential for capital gains, he shook his head and looked back at his audience.
“But I digress… I sent you here for a reason, so I’ll cut to the chase.” Karl shifted in his seat and looked straight into the camera. “I know that you arrived here under dubious circumstances, Christa, but the truth is, I can help you. You see, there isn’t much that escapes my eyes. I’m no Imperial CIA, but I like to think I get around enough to know some things. Your sister, that’s why you’re here, ain’t it? Envelopes and messages … No, no, you stop with the angry eyes, I didn’t have those things planted. I certainly reached out to you, but I didn’t leave you a moist pamphlet at the Fountain. That sister of yours? Katia? Alive. Don’t ask me how. You want answers, you need to scratch my back.”
Karl shifted in his chair, drank some wine, and glanced at the camera again. “And you, Red. I apologize, but I lied to you.”
The feline prime scowled as he tried to recall his scant conversations with the executive.
“That friend of yours? I lied. Like I said, there ain’t nothing that slips by Karl. If you go into the bottom drawer of my desk, there’s one of those fake bottoms. Not the kind with silicon in it, mind you. Pull it up and you’ll find a phone. You won’t get a signal, but there’s a contact in the phone that will lead you to Mr. Valentine.”
Red rushed over to desk as Christa kept her focus on the grainy recording of Karl Jak.
“Now while he rifles around in there like a good boy,” the man sipped on some more wine, poured himself another glass, and had another long drink before turning back to his audience. “You kept ahold of that device I gave you, right? You need to find the bunker that’s in this city. I’ve tried to go there, but I just can’t get it done. You need to go there and unplug it… you’ll understand what I mean. That’s the only way to pacify the island, and trust me, Sweethearts, you ain’t leaving this place until it’s quiet.” Karl shifted in his chair, and in the background of the recording, Christa heard what sounded like knocks or punches against wood. Whatever the sound was, it seemed to unnerve Karl, because he had to take a moment to catch his thoughts before he turned back to the camera. “I think you know that this island’s not a safe place. Let’s just say that there was a reason why I forgot making it.
“It was supposed to stay hidden.”
Something crashed in the background of the recording, and Karl nearly lost his wine as he stood up from his chair. He set the glass down and walked over to the camera until his face filled the frame. “The bunker, Christa and Dog. Bring some others if you can…. Perhaps Wade? I always got a laugh from his shtick. And maybe that smelly marine, if he hasn’t started to suffer from rigor mortis yet.” Another thud distracted Karl for a brief moment. When he returned, he was smiling once again, although the expression seemed a little strained, even for someone as practiced as Karl Jak. “I have office hours, so I must say goodbye.
“The Bunker. Don’t forget. More than just our egos are riding on this.”
With that, the recording ended and the television started to spit out white noise once again. From the desk, Red had torn up the bottom drawer and found exactly what Karl said he would find—a small mobile phone. The feline dropped it onto the ground and gingerly smacked at the screen a few times before glancing up at Christa. “No signal, but there is a number in here. Along with a few photos from some sort of dessert-themed party…”
The sniper was lost in her thoughts.
Quote:Deadpool has ‘won’ Round 11. Your stuff is at the bunker, whenever you get there.
Red -> Sent you a PM pertaining to Round 9.
Abner-Colonel -> I think you guys are heading somewhere? Right? If you’re not heading to join up with anyone else, let me know too, so I can give you both something dramatic to build up towards.
Hiro-DP -> Let me know when you intend to find the bunker. I’ll have to write up a longer update post for that scene as well.