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+--- Thread: [4-14] The Town (/showthread.php?tid=4683)
RE: [4-] The Town - Gildarts - 08-04-2016
“That damn bastard!” but when Red turned his head, expecting to see Christa livid with the latest news from the tape, instead, she was looking at her own reflection. Perhaps she had expected to see Will Smith, because she exclaimed, “Christ is this what I look like?”
Red could’ve cared less that half of her hair was less than chin length and the other past her shoulders, probably because he had fur all over, but it seemed Christa thought her hair was even more important than Karl’s mission. “Look what that cannibal did to me!” she sighed, her expression wilted, Abner had liked her long hair. Had she forgotten the chunk viciously taken out of her shoulder? Human coping mechanisms were almost comical, Christa didn’t seem like the type to fall into those standards, but he watched her examine herself. She was withered, her skin had a sickly gray pallor, and there were dark circles under her eyes – whether from too much blood loss or lack of sleep, Red didn’t know – but she was worried about, of all things, her hair.
“I’ll have to cut it,” she declared in a hollow voice. Red hesitated, unsure how to pull her from this state, she could lash out or freak out. Instead, he paused patiently and watched what she’d do next. Items clattered to the ground as Christa searched for what Red assumed to be scissors, but they weren’t there. She didn’t want to use the blood splattered knife –it had hardened on, there was no scraping layers and layers of ichor that dulled the blade itself– and Christa, admitting defeat, turned back to Red.
Nanaki, for sure, thought he was going to be asked if it really looked “that bad,” but it seemed the woman was over it, for her eyes had set with renewed vitality. “Good luck calling anyone with those big paws of yours, I’ll hold onto it, and when there’s service we’ll use the number, I can’t imagine there are many cell towers on this god-forsaken island. ” she’d been present the whole time, and slipped it in her pocket... But not before a hot rush of color flushed to her cheeks and her eyes dart away when she saw the wallpaper of the phone.
Pop!
Red looked up to see she had unscrewed a cork and held the bottle to her lips, she had but a sip of the tasteful Merlot before coughing for lack of a glass. “Smarmy bastard has good taste, but I’m more of a whiskey gal myself. Oh don’t look at me like that, I’m not trying to get drunk, you know before people had clean water they survived off of drinks like this all day? Yeah well, let’s say I’m going with that. Ha, despite it all, Karl’s actually kind of a funny guy,” she admitted having another sip of the wine that would never even give her a decent buzz, “Though I don’t know why he keeps calling you a dog, you’re closer to a man. Or maybe he’s trying to call me one, y’know, man’s best friend and all? Anyway, he knew about my sister, and I’ll punch his stubbly face next time I see him to repay him for not telling me sooner, but he likes to play the game, in fact, I think that’s all he’s ever done. Hate the sin, love the sinner.”
Another sip before she re-corked it, “He abandoned his wine stores, and baited us up here, we’re at the top of this building, the undead for sure have–”
An eerie knocking commenced.
“Exactly,” Right on cue. She called to them, “Yeah yeah, just a minute, I’m taking a leak!” A sigh, “We’re gonna have to fight our way out, but you know KARL,” she shouted as though believing the Great Karl had ears everywhere whilst enraging the beasts just outside, “IT WOULD BE A LOT FUCKING EASIER IF YOU HADN’T MELTED MY BERETTA. And yes, I’m still pissed about it”
The sniper turned her eyes from the ceiling, “Luckily, I have an alternative, oh yeah, it gives new meaning to the phrase, ‘one shot, one kill’ that’s for sure. Anyway, I’ve got two frags, one flash bang, and one smoke grenade. Nanaki,” her eyes caught his in the dim light of his tail’s flame, hoping to captivate him enough so he would accept the seriousness of her words, “It is very possible that only one of us will make it out of this. Unfortunately, I don’t see any bedsheets in this office, only pens and sex toys, else I’d hop out the window and belay my way down, oh yeah, that and I’ve only got one working arm and can’t run for shit to distract them so you could escape. Red, I have no doubt that since we’ve come this far together, we can make it out of this alive, but I’m more afraid of actually becoming one of those things. Kill me if I do.”
Red nodded, feeling the same exact way, “You’re not talking much,” she said, a hint of concern in her charismatic voice, “We’ll get through this. Adversity doesn’t have to shape us, instead, we can use it to become stronger, better, wiser. You know Red, when I was holding you at gunpoint and thought you were a monster? Ha, well, looks like there are worse things, I’m sorry.”
Apologies were for endings.
“There’s no need to apologize,” the lion said nobly and Christa continued to inspect the room, hoping to find something of use.
“Couldn’t die with myself if I didn’t,” she admitted, “We’ll both find them, and Abner, and the bunker, but who the hell is this Wade guy?” Finally, something useful. She sighed with relief as her eyes caught placed at the very back of the dark safe, stashed away, almost like a lost memory. “Only one thing of brandy Karl, really?”
Thud thud, she was reminded of the undead and wrangled her thoughts back into place. “Anyway, do you think a smoke signal would do the trick? I’m not exactly about to go patrol the town looking for survivors, but I think Karl’s implying there still are some. Though, what does he know if he’s dead?” her eyes lingered to the window, looking down eight stories and across the deserted town, “It’s darker than death out there. God, like, straight out of a King horror movie.” A determined smile cracked her lips, “Are you ready to go?”
Red’s whiskers quivered and his silence was filled with the beating of the true beasts against the wall, soulless, carnivorous undead. “Right then,” the woman pushed her chin up as her eyes narrowed, “We know they like fire, and I bet you the undead burn pretty nicely, eh?”
Their first task was to escape the confined space alive. Christa had a plan, but she had limited resources, luckily one nearly unlimited, was Karl’s delicious wine collection. Hey, he said “help yourself.”
It happened all at once.
The door burst open, the hinges unable to hold on any longer. Sparkling glass shattered in a spray along one side of the room, the sniper had thrown her bottle at the animated beings with perfect aim. The brandy covered their molting flesh and now all Red had to do was light it. A push toppled over the bottles on the wine rack, each rolled free and at the uncoordinated ghouls that were rushing at her while Red concealed himself behind a leather chair. One undead, frothing at the mouth and spewing its bacteria infested saliva growled a low rumble. The daunting creature tripped when it lunged at Christa and the sniper used her good arm to shove the dead executive’s desk into it, its smell was rank with decay and now mingled with the sharp taste of alcohol. Crack! a bottle exploded and its sharp end found itself in the frothing one’s eye. Satisfied with the distraction and payback, the woman dove underneath the desk and below their slow, unseeing, clutches sliding past their strings for muscles which now struggled for balance.
Christa skidded to safety by his side and Red released a flaming sphere launched straight at their center. A burst of heat followed by a streak of light. The monsters were ablaze in a scene more hopeful than the rising sun; the demons burned. Christa was shoving Red’s rear out the door, while the thwarted undead let out a combined roar of rage; they would not be subdued so easily. One was too close and had not been touched by the fire nor the crippling collision of Red’s attack. The Prime’s knife landed square in its forehead and she watched it collapse. The next aflame zombie extended its once-manicured, now-mutilated hand caked in thick black gore as it grabbed for Christa’s shoulder. A quick dodge cast the slow she-ghoul away, its torso had been impaled by a sharp sword, melted in its already decomposing flesh and framed by its blackened ribs. Well, she wasn’t using it.
The sniper’s empty hand went for it. The hilt of worn leather was warm as the smiling Christa dodged a snap from the pink-nailed zombie while staring down the beast’s demonic eyes. The Prime was high from the thrill and excited by her enemy’s sole craving: To kill. She had examined and basked in her victory for too long, trying to tell whether or not there was a person still in there–burning alive– as another chomp came an inch from closing around her neck, so close that she had felt the warmth of its sick-infused air. The abyssal pupils of the cremating zombie had expanded past its irises and by contrast the last corners of the white in its eyes had turned a deep blood-red. Gluttonous pain was the source behind every desperate jerk the haunted corpse made. It was as though when the zombie filled her rotting gums with something alive that the saliva could slobber on, the immediate gush of flavor would mean at least one second the un-human wouldn’t have to feel like such a nameless monster. Like it took a single ounce of flesh to be filled with human again, rabid to feel anything other than the carnal desire to kill.
The blade came out of the molten cartilage as easily as butter, light in her hand, and cut through the air with a soft whip, THWINNNG! Christa felt the purr of hot metal, both the steel and its wielder were craving for something else to slice.
The ghoul-woman’s wrinkly head fell to the ground with a dense, conclusive THUD! Christa used this time to kick back the decapitated body into the remaining three and turned quickly to the stairs. Swiftly, she dug in, the sole of her oozing shoe squeaking where it had melted.
RE: [4-] The Town - Okor - 08-04-2016
The Ascended’s skull clattered against his pauldron, blood-stained bone impacting against the ceramite with every step Okor took, dragging him towards the town. Structures nearly as dilapidated as the Marine loomed on the horizon, hollow holes arrayed across their surfaces, the metallic bones within laid bare to the world, rockcrete rubble clustered at their bases. One such fragment skittered off down a dark alley as he laid a foot on the tarmac, crimson stains, yet to be washed away by the rain, were still evident despite the darkness brought on by the night. Lampposts laid across the street like fallen warriors, a single illuminator flickering briefly, one last swan song of shimmering light before the bulb burst, sparks and shattered glass spraying from its final resting place, a shard skipping across the hard surface before landing next to his feet.
He ground the trappings of civilization beneath his horrid heel, the glass being ground to powder as he snarled, glaring out at the festering remnants of what was once a great city. ”Seems as if they started… without me.”
A howl echoed through the ruins, a hunchbacked creature clambering over a heap of rubble, its twisted spine pressing against jaundiced skin, its fang-lined maw tearing itself apart as it screamed its unnatural rage and undying agony to the heavens. Jagged claws gripped at the fallen cityscape, anchoring it as its warped body fulfilled its purpose, bloated tumours around its throat engorging as it roared, the sound suffusing the atmosphere.
The carrion’s clarion call was quickly taken up by others, warbled hunting howls surrounding the plague marine as he moved forward, fearless of the festering corpses pouring from the ruins surrounding him. His eye fell upon each of them in turn, its gaze menacing the menagerie of monsters. Looming leprous creatures stood next to rotting hulks of corpulent flesh, corpse-gas leaking from every septic seam in the rotten remnants of their corporeal form, twisted mockeries of man skulked in the shadow, cruel eyes and crude weapons betraying the intellect concealed within their rotten brains. Soulless bodies shambled forward, heedless of the massive wounds inflicted upon their physique, entrails and organs spilling from shattered bodies as broken teeth hungrily gnashed at the air, seeking to end an insatiable appetite.
The horde eventually stopped, each and every esoteric abomination beginning to circle the Champion, maintaining their distance whilst attempting to determine whether the newcomer as a fellow festerer, or merely food.
A guttural laugh quickly decided that.
”What a… Disappointment.”
He pulled the flail from his shoulders, the vertebrae gently jangling against each other as the weighted skull crashed down to the blood-stained asphalt.
”When I heard tale of the living dead, I envisioned something more than feral beasts. I have seen the Leprous Legions of the Plague God, marching across reality and freeing its… prisoners from their suffering.”
His fists clenched, slowly cracking the demigod’s spine beneath his claws, thin fissures running through the pure white of the bone.
”I came here for a war, to kill something worth fighting.”
“Instead, I am consigned to Pest Control.”
Whether they understood his words or not, they had reached their consensus, surging and shambling forward as a disorganized mass, nimble necrophages mantling over the detritus of the dead city as their corpulent cousins waddled forward, ham-fisted arms outstretched. His corrupted claw reached down, closing upon a shrunken skull at his waist, the crude technology bolted onto its exterior receptive to his rotten touch, activating the noxious payload within as the ghouls closed on him.
”Pathetic. To think that you know power, when it stands before you. To think that you could be so blind.”
Tainted claws reached out, scrabbling at his nigh-impenetrable ceramite carapace, empty-eyed skulls gnashing, scraping cracked teeth across his armour as he began to disappear beneath the hungering husks.
”Come and see.”
The blight grenade detonated, a cloud of life-eating gas consuming the ravenous rampagers, turning their claws from his warplate to their own throats, their bodies and minds warped and twisted by the infection, but not entirely deadened. As their lives slowly ebbed out, black boils burgeoning across their jaundiced hides and within their esophaguses, Okor began reaping his bloody harvest. The God-forged weapon struck, breaking apart twisted ribcages and malformed skulls, sending the cannibalistic subhumans fying from the deadly fog, only to crash and collapse against the derelict architecture. The murdering mist began to part, the toxic atmosphere no longer able to sustain its killing potential, fading into the ether from which it sprung as the Death Guard delivered a crushing blow from above onto a cowering survivor, the crown of the aspiring deity claiming the unlife before it.
The next wave approached as the Conqueror strode forward, vitae coating his armour, staining the ragged strips of yellowed flesh hanging from his ancient bones, bent on carving his name into the corpses before him, earning his place in this damned realm’s oh-so-short history.
A behemoth charged forward, their obese bulk shaking as thick legs carried them onwards, their oversized maw dripping glowing green liquid of thankfully unknown origin, seeping through blackened fangs. The thunderous cacophony of the wretched refuse of the teeming city, the huddled masses yearning to devour the flesh of the living, came from behind the Champion, rotten feet threatening to drown out the cataclysmic approach of the corpulent corpse before him.
”Come and see,” he snarled, turning as the hulking creature trampled towards him, the weight of its remains preventing it from altering its course as it collided with the horde of lesser beings, scattering whatever remained of its victims through the area, appendages briefly filling the atmosphere. Whatever vestiges of peace the area had once possessed disappeared, the temporarily tranquil town now seething with the living dead, the carnivorous corpses scrambling towards their most recent foe. His bolter barked, sending its last few rounds careening into the back of the bloated monstrosity, blowing apart whatever remained of its innards as it collapsed to the surface of the road, leaking long-rotten bodily fluids onto the ground, spasming as the mockery of life it has possessed slipped away.
Come and see!” He howled to the uncaring universe, his abdomen tearing itself apart as foot-long fangs gnashed at the empty air, dessicated innards flowing forth from within his stomach, seeking fresh meat for his insatiable appetites.
In its absence, it would settle for a new infection to add to the menagerie of maledictions within his malformed corpse.
Barbed lengths of intestinal tract wrapped around the walking dead, tearing their fermenting forms apart, dragging scraps of flesh into the great maw within his stomach, blood and rot flowing from the abyssal chasm set in his abdomen as it devoured, a slurry of masticated meat seeping from between great fangs.
Sanguine stains and still-twitching heaps of flesh lay scattered across the scene of battle, the once-mighty horde devoured and destroyed by the divine warrior, his body shaking as it digested the corpse-meat shovelled into his body, assimilating it into the abominable ecosystem within. He breathed heavily, the lethal air within his lungs little more than a taste of home to the Barbarus-born Nurglite.
A macuahuitl dug deep into his torso, the unnatural strength behind the blow driving it through the ancient armour shielding him from the world, the ambusher striking from behind his back, a cowardly, yet undeniably sound act. The skull-mask worn by the warrior was cracked and broken, giving way to festering flesh and diseased bone, the once-proud tribal warrior corrupted into an eternal killer, a mindless mockery of Okor’s own profession.
”Come and get it.”
He turned and fell, the primitive sword lodged deep within his body, dragging its wielder down to the ground as they desperately attempted to pull the blade from its prison of pestilential flesh. His pauldrons landed upon the forearms of his attacker, rolling on to the ghoulish guerilla to the sweet sound of splintering bone, driving an elbow into their masked face, sending shards of skull into their visage. His claws wrapped around their throat as they struggled to recover, curses in the black tongue of Daemons spewing from his mouth as he tightened his grip, liquid corruption dripping from his hands. The divine bacteria began to consume the corpse, eating away at its esophagus, the spasms of the creature slowly dying as Okor’s grip spread to its spine, crushing it to dust, vertebrae by vertebrae.
As the corpse gurgled its last breath, the Marine tore the cranium from its resting place, freeing it from its final fetters of flesh. The damaged skull was set upon his side, one more trophy collected over his millennia of murder.
Snarling, he looked to the trauma inflicted upon him, the deep gouge in his shoulder nearly severing his arm, shards of bone lying in the wound where his reinforced skeleton had failed to stop the blow. He reached over with a gangrenous gauntlet, pressing the split flesh together, allowing the bountiful corruption of Nurgle to flow over his maimed body, mending his maimed body, replenishing his unnatural vitality and prolonging his abominable existence.
He dredged his flail from the remains of its last victim, pulling it free from the feeble remnants of a skull as he moved deeper into the arcology, dragging the head of his weapon against the road, the grating of bone on stone a herald of his arrival.
Chaos had come, and may the Gods have mercy on any that dared to stand in its path.
Quote:1 SP used for regeneration. 2 Damage healed, up to 16/20 health, by my count. 1620 words according to google docs. Fresh out of SP and fucks.
RE: [4-] The Town - Deadpool - 08-04-2016
The faces of the siamese monstrosity shrieked in unison as the two blades ran opposite courses across its body—Hiro's katana barely missed decollating the creature, instead slicing from bicep to bicep, while the mercenary's (much cooler, traditional) katana swept through its thighs. Black colored blood splashed over the stairwell's platform as the creature split into three large pieces and several dismembered limbs. They bounced against the walls, then tumbled passed Deadpool on their descent down the stairwell. But the upper part of the monstrosity—everything above the clavicles—stopped at his feet. Its faces still shrieked, but in a dry dying voice.
The mercenary loved to watch his victims die. It was like a rush—a high—to witness a soul leave the body. His high had eluded him earlier, when Karl 2 and Pepsiman both plummeted into the ocean, and indistinguishable flesheaters didn't get his rocks off; Mr. Siamese Hazard Suit Man would have to suffice.
Yes that's right, die slowly,” Deadpool thought. He stared into the visages of the monstrosity, observing the life retreat from their polished green eyes with amusement; he grinned as their breaths shortened, and the fog on their hazard suit visors faded away.
“You got some damn timing.” Hiro said. He eased his posture and wiped the glistening sweat from his forehead. “And you can take your kindergarten backpack back too.”
The mercenary pried his sights from the lifeless monstrosity to give Hiro a nod. ”Yeah, I tend to do that. Never know, might even pop up in the next thread you're in, after D.A.” His eyes settled on his Hello Kitty book-bag—it dangled from the handle of the hacker's briefcase—and he chortled. ”You can keep it on you for the time being, it looks cute on you.”
“Bravo, bravo.” Karl clamped his machete under his arm to give the duo an applause; the sound reverberated through the stairwell. “Chocolate Thunder and Daddy, reunited with White Lightning,” he quipped, then said, “now back to finding that bunker, boys.”
“Any idea where it could be?” Hiro inquired. He looked the sign mounted beside the doorway—covered in the monstrosity's blood, it partially read OOR 3. “Cuz I'm sure there's at least five more floors to this place, and that's a lot of distance to cover.”
“It's near the Syntech sector,” Karl replied, pointing his index upward, “one floor up, on the fourth.”
Deadpool prayed it was a coincidence; perhaps, just a writing mistake made in Hiro's second to last post. Karl couldn't be conducting business with Umbrella. He hesitated to speak, but spilled the question eating at him: “And why is there a Syntech sector inside of an Umbrella Corp. building?”
“I have my hand in a lot of industries—that's what rich people do, Wade,” the executive replied in a satirical tone. “I invest into various companies; they use the revenue to hire scientists and engineers; when things are created, the patent, in essence, belongs to me. Then I get paid from things called royalties.”
”You do know what Umbrella Corp. does, right?”
Karl grinned. “Yes, they make me tons of money; other than that, no. What they do is their business, and quite frankly, I'd like it to stay that way—it's hard to be prosecuted for misdeeds that you're technically unaware of.”
”Well, shit.” Deadpool smacked the heel of his palm against his forehead. ”Your funding probably indirectly caused all of this, whether you were aware of it or not.”
“Yes, maybe.”
The executive always spoke vaguely. Deadpool imagined such a quality translated well in the world of business, where you essentially played verbal poker, but in his world it translated to deviousness. It was a quality mostly held by loophole mongers—the type of people who conducted backdoor deals, and manipulated markets.
”Ya'know, I like you and all, but you're the type of person that—back in my universe—a person like me would be hired to kill.” Deadpool said. ”Lex Luther, Norman Osborne—all of them have had hits put out on them, I'm pretty sure.”
Karl chuckled. “Well thankfully, people like you also follow their best interests—its one of the reasons I like you, Wade. Mercenaries don't pick sides unless it's convenient to them.”
The trio climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, which for whatever reason, seemed longer than any of the other set of stairs. They made it to the next platform—FLOOR 4, a clean sign read beside the doorway.
It was a sprawling office space, segregated into a grid of identical cubicles—swivel chairs, desktops, dresser drawers, and family portraits or desk ornaments as a personal items. Panes of light made up the ceiling, bathing the room in a pale yellow.
What mundane lives the workers must of had, the mercenary thought. He pictured the office space filled with number crunchers wearing thick bifocals. They stared at their computer monitors while their keyboards chattered away. Stacks of paperwork mounted on their desks, growing by the hour, and never shrinking. They were the type of individuals who worked long shifts, often staying late; the type with unfaithful spouses, who were probably fucking men of less worth, but more personality—men like himself, before cancer stuck him (housewife Becky might have been cooking for more than just her family).
“Alright,” Karl spoke, “the bunker is in the floor.”
Hiro looked perplexingly at Karl. “The floor?”
“Yes, the floor,” the executive answered. “In case you didn't notice, there were more stairs between the third and fourth floor than any of the ones prior.”
”To make space for the bunker,” the mercenary finished.
“Give the man a new car.”
Hiro sighed in annoyance. “So we gotta get on our hands and knees, and check the whole floor.”
Karl laughed. “As entertaining as it would be to watch you two assume the position, I'm relatively sure that the bunker is in the meeting room.” He pointed pointed towards the rear of the office space.
Behind a wall of glass panels, the mercenary saw a large oval table with a dozen chairs encircling it. Flatscreen monitors were tilted on the table's surface to face the chairs in front of them; at the center, a golden object gleaned under the sunset-orange lighting of the room. The casual tone of it sharply contrasted the rest of the workspace, which exuded more of a 'nine-to-five slavery' feeling (the head honchos of the organization probably stared through their glass walls, observing their lackeys do tedious cubicle work like a child would gaze at an ant farm).
They navigated the maze of cubicles and entered the meeting room. Deadpool and Hiro stood to Karl's flanks as he approached the table. The executive focused on the golden statue at the center. It was a monkey sitting with its legs crossed, and its tail coiled around itself. Two sparking rubies accounted for its eyes. The mercenary never claimed to be a jeweler, but he could tell that it was masterfully done by hand.
”So we came all this way to see your monkey?” Deadpool said.
Karl detected the underlying bawdiness of the mercenary's words and winked. “Not yet.” Tipping the statue over, he revealed a red button underneath it, and pressed it.
Suddenly, blinds dropped down from the ceiling, curtaining the full length of the glass walls. Now the ground began to tremble; dust billowed up between the clean floorboards as a hole formed itself in the upper right part of the room.
A grin spread across Karl's face. “Hiro, I give you your bunker.”
Quote:Words: 1325
RE: [4-] The Town - Kenpachi Zaraki - 08-04-2016
Sniper and feline barreled through the door-less ingress, overworked limbs desperate to remove them from the grasp of the plagued horde. No sooner had they crossed the threshold than a second jolt of panic struck them; dozens of afflicted humans stumbled from the various offices and cubicles as though on their way to a mid-day meeting with the now-dead producer. They moved in unison, decaying flesh splitting as their cloudy eyes turned to focus on the fleeing twosome. Under the meager glow of the dim, flickering fluorescent office lighting, Nanaki could finally see the fiends for what they were; or rather, what they had become. What remained of their clothing hung tattered and torn from their emaciated bodies, flesh like a wet paper bag splitting to reveal the discolored ivory beneath. Taut tendons and ligaments caused them to move with jerky, unsteady movements as they hastened toward Christa and her feline companion.
“Fuck!” Christa growled with exasperation, taking hold of a nearby mail cart and forcing it into the gut of the nearest walker with the full might that her lone arm supplied. Letters and small packages were knocked airborne as the trolley toppled over and skidded onto its side, carrying the thrashing zombie back into the incoming mob and trapping him beneath it. The undead cretin’s comrades took no mind of his dilemma, surging forward over the downed flesheater with hunger and desperation in their eyes. The huntress wheeled around, spying a smoldering rot-man in pursuit from the Executive Office. “Red, look out!”
Nanaki turned on a dime, reacting with enough time to fall low on his forelimbs, throwing his powerful musculature into a back-kick that sent the fire-addled fiend airborne. The charred undead fell upon the rest of the pursuers, toppling the disorganized huddle of his compatriots attempting to force their fetid bodies through the doorway. The burgundy beast ignored the aching of his re-opened wounds, returned his gaze to the battle’s forefront to watch as Christa’s newest weapon separated an attacker from his legs at the knee. From his angle Red could see little but a gaggle of repugnant torsos, before him though he knew roughly where their exit would lie. Thinking quickly, he shot his golden eye skyward, standing stock-still as he channeled his magicka. “Get down and cover your eyes!” the panther snarled, closing his own velvet eyelids and opening his fanged maw. At a moment’s notice a softball-sized ball of plasma sparked to life, rocketing blindly upward at an oblique angle and smashing into the overhead lighting. Glass shattered as the mercury-vapor quickly ionized, a blinding flash flaring across the level. The diseased legion’s bony hands clamped over their scorched optics as crystal shrapnel rained from above. “Go!”
The blonde needn’t have been told, already knocking blinded foes away with her gore-drenched gladius as they forced their way down the hallway toward the stairwell. Filthy digits, worn to the bone, clawed at the living as they muscled through, desperately reaching for what they hoped could glut their ever-present lust. Christa cried out in a mixture of disgust and rage as supernaturally strong talons wrapped around her good wrist, threatening to pull her into the ravenous throng. Whatever pox had befallen the village had granted them strength beyond humanity, with voracity to match. Such hunger Nanaki could imagine, though he’d be damned if he were to allow the huntress to fall. Throwing both caution and reason to the wind, the burgundy beast turned and thrashed through the crowd, colliding with her captor with enough force to tear the limb from its mangled socket. She grasped the lonely zombie limb by the wrist, ripping its now-limp grip free. “No!” she cried out, brandishing her blade with reckless abandon in the direction that feline had departed, spraying repugnant gore as she shredded zombie flesh. “Nanaki!”
Amid the sea of ravenous corpses, Red tensed his brawn, ignoring the feeling of jagged phalanges attempting to tear at his pelt. “Run!” the feline roared, turquoise energy rising from his body like steam, causing those in contact to cry out and recoil as if burned. Before the blonde could reply in opposition to his command, the lion bounded from the carpeted floor, his mako-augmented frame toppling corpses like bowling pins. The burgundy beast could feel his body’s resistance to such a maneuver, but he could not heed it, instead pushing forward through the hungering mob with every ounce of energy he could muster. Spying her companion’s beryl blitz through the crowd, the gunslinger followed in his wake, plying the blinded pursuers with strikes and sword slashes until they finally reached the doorway. No sooner had they arrived at their mark than they realized their folly; the sounds of frenzied clamor and voracious gurgling met their ears as the undead tide surged up the stairs.
“Elevator!” Christa called desperately over the cacophony, grabbing a handful of her companion’s pelt and tugging his transfixed body away from the stairwell. Red reckoned that even the dulcet tunes of muzak would not calm him in this moment, though as the frantic woman had a death-grip on his fur, he was obliged to follow.
“I hope you know what you’re doing!” Red growled over the groaning masses. Though he doubted the broken lift would provide them much respite, he trusted the woman completely. With each having saved the other’s life repeatedly over the past day or so, this was no surprise. He silently hoped that perhaps she had taken elevator-repair courses.
The mosh pit of blinded ghouls had begun to redouble their efforts, following the sounds of the pair’s banter as they closed in on their prey. Although they were mere feet from the bloody, dented doors of the elevator, the veritable wall of rotting meat made the journey feel endless. Juking around the lunge of yet another animated dead, Nanaki watched as Christa plunged her sword through the softened cranium of a walking cadaver, shattering the fiend’s skull like an eggshell and tearing her weapon skyward, painting the ceiling with the crimson yolk. The feline could sense her motions slowing as they burned the candle at both ends, working desperately to escape with their lives. Mercifully, their last victim had left the way clear, allowing the pair to finally reach the end of the hallway, backs against the literal wall as the horde pressed forward. Christa darted toward the open elevator doors, jamming the buttons as if they would respond to her desperation. The lion made to follow, strafing to avoid the blind grab of fetid fingers. He opened his maw as he neared the lift, aiming a Fira spell at the water cooler as he stumbled into the car, sending a mist of super-heated water and molten plastic spraying over the horde. As the sultry sounds of elevator music filtered through his ears, Red only hoped this could buy them the time they needed.
“All the vampires walkin' through the valley move west down Ventura Boulevard...”
“Fuck!” Christa cried out for what felt like the fiftieth time. She jabbed at the wall of buttons aggressively, as if trying desperately to avoid an annoying coworker after a conference call. As Red finally entered the car, she dropped her blade to rest upon the lift’s plush carpet, letting her rifle slide fluidly from her shoulder and into her outstretched hand. She moved quickly to the center of the car, holding the rifle before her, muzzle-up, like one might to look upon a dear child. She paused for an instant, calculating her shot.
“And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows, all the good girls are home with broken hearts...”
“Hold on!” she boomed as the undead began to force their way into the compartment. With a deafening crack she pulled the trigger, firing a high-caliber slug into the ceiling. As if to answer, a thunderous boom called out from overhead a split-second later, as gravity began to reclaim them. Weightlessness overtaking them, the car seemed to fall quiet, save for the drone of the elevator’s speakers.
“And I'm free, free fallin'...”
Nanaki felt his stomach rise into his throat at the car dropped like a ton of bricks, shearing the gaggle of partial-entrants in twain and filling the car with a revolting pile of gore and miscellaneous body parts. Putrid plasma sprayed over the car’s tacky wallpaper and doused the lift’s chrome in brown-red polish. Ungodly screeching met the duo’s ears as the car ground against the inside of the shaft, sparks flying through the jammed-open doors. Desperate, the burgundy beast laid as flat to the blood-soaked carpet, mimicking the gunslinger as they attempted to minimize fall damage. Just as Red began to wonder if they’d survive the eight-story fall, the car began to slow. The floor beneath them issued a loud wheeze as the breaks engaged, stifling their breakneck descent to a more manageable rate. Finally, with a loud thud, the compartment rebounded against the shaft’s buffer, stalling their descent completely.
RE: [4-] The Town - Karl Jak - 08-05-2016
Update
With the way open, the trio made their way toward the hatch in the corner of the meeting room. Karl led the way, but the others followed closely behind as he plopped down onto the edge of the hole, glanced down, and slipped off the edge. The gentle thump a moment later told the pair of swordsmen that their tour guide hadn’t fallen to his death.
“Come now, Boys.” Karl shouted, prompting the two men to hop down into the bunker.
“What is this place?” Hiro asked as a series of fluorescent tube lighting hummed to life over their heads. “The same as the one at the lighthouse?” From their immediate surroundings, that appeared to be the case. They were standing in a plain corridor that seemed to match the entrance to their previous secret destination.
“No, not really,” Karl remarked as he traversed the metal hallway and presented himself to the door at the end. “You see,” he glanced over his shoulder at his two companions. “This is Central.” Placing his hand on a glass pad on the side of the wall, the executive smiled as a light flash underneath his palm. After a slight delay, the door slid into the wall with a pneumatic hiss, showcasing a small room no larger than an elevator. “All aboard.”
Once the three men were all inside the tiny room, Karl snickered and pushed the button on the interior console. After the doors slid shut, there was a brief bit of jostling accompanied by the whirring of gears before they arrived at their destination with a melodic ping!.
“Where?” Hiro asked as Deadpool and he filtered out of the elevator.
“Underground.” Karl muttered, eliciting an arched eyebrow from Chocolate Thunder.
“What are we doing here?” The hacker inquired as he stared out into what seemed to be a pleasant little waiting room decorated with a fridge and a pinball machine.
“He’s waiting for us,” Karl answered nonchalantly as he strode passed his companions toward one of the two doors on the far wall. He grabbed hold of the door knob, and when he tried to turn it, it only jiggled in his clutches. After a few subtle efforts, he glanced back over his shoulder at the pair. “Only way we’ll be able to get off this island… unless you two are interested in buying some ocean-front property? I have a wonderful friend named Ms. Aran who can probably give you the number for her real-estate agent.”
Deadpool snickered, but the remarked seemed to go over Hiro’s head. The samurai just glanced at both men and shook his head. “Whatever we have to do. I’ve had my fill of this.”
With a grin, Karl stepped away from the door and gestured to it with his head. “Then why don’t you guys have the fun?”
In a matter of moments, the two katana-wielding primes hacked apart the door, revealing a large room that looked like—
”Is this where the Star Trek kids play their bondage games?” Deadpool asked out loud as Karl scowled.
“Room didn’t used to look like this,” he answered flatly as he searched the nearby wall for a power switch. When he found one, the room received a scant amount of illumination from a few dingy bulbs screwed into insets on the ceiling. Despite the lack of light, there was more than enough to see the weird assortment of tubes that lined the walls and the weird ‘equipment’ that was strewn about. Deadpool reached down and picked up what seemed to be a stainless steel ball gag. The mercenary chuckled and dropped it onto the floor as the last of the lights flickered to life, revealing a solitary figure in a tube near the back of the room.
The sight caused the masked man to momentarily loose himself in a fit of laughs. When he regained his composure, he turned to Hiro. “Nailed it.”
Inside the tube was a man in the remnants of a purple Dolce & Gabana dress shirt. His slacks looked dilapidated and were almost falling off of his legs, and his feet were bare. Whatever elegant footwear he once wore had been long lost. Around the man’s face was a breathing mask that provided him with oxygen as he bobbed gently inside the cyan liquid of the tube. Although the brown head of hair was wholly submerged into the solution, it still had the bizarre appearance of being styled, which made it impossible to deny the identity of the man.
“The hell?” Hiro asked as he turned to Karl Jak. “Why are you in that tube?”
The executive chuckled as he walked over to a terminal and started to click at things. “How long have you been on the island?”
“Seven weeks!” Deadpool answered, eliciting a scowl from Hiro and Karl.
“Almost a day, right?” Karl tapped a few more lines of code before pausing to finish his thought. “Might feel like more for you, though. I’ve been here for a month or so, maybe more. You think this place was like this the entire time? Just a wacky place with sentient fog that moves around, deformed townspeople, serial killers, and all this other crap?” As the question hung in the air, there was a beep that startled everyone just before the tube began to drain.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Karl rolled his eyes as he smacked a few more keys and left the console. “I thought by now you or someone else here would have managed to piece some of it together.”
Deadpool took that moment to interject. “I think they’ve been too busy, with all the wandering around and killing and exposition. Subplots and side-zones are dangerous things.”
The executive smiled faintly as the freshly drained tube let out a second automated noise. Once the tune was finished, the front of the tube separated from the rest and was lifted up toward the ceiling by a unoiled mechanical arm.
Inside the container, the Karl twitched as he regained consciousness. His eyes popped open behind the mask, and while he seemed to be startled at first, he quickly found his bearings. Hands that hadn’t seen a manicure in far too long grabbed at the headgear and tore it away as Tube Karl let out a gasp and stumbled down into the arms of Counselor Karl.
As Hiro watched the scene unfold with more confusion than anything else, Deadpool leaned in close to him and poked him in the ribcage with an elbow. “Is it just me or does this feel like the beginning of a porno?”
“I see you haven’t lost that sense of wit, Mr. Wilson,” freshly woken Karl, whose voice was still hoarse, smirked at his own remark as he got back to his feet with the help of his double. He glanced over at the samurai and had to think for a few moments before the answer came to him. “Hiro Protagonist, right?” The Karl that the boys had been with nodded when he got a look from the speaker. “Were you enjoying your time in Coruscant? It was rather nice of you to come.”
“I’m not sure what’s going on,” Hiro replied. He turned to Deadpool in the hopes of some illuminating remark or witty retort, but the mercenary—his masked face somehow showing more emotion than it should be—seemed positively giddy at the situation.
“You crashed here, right?” Karl asked, eliciting a nod from both Counselor Karl and Hiro. “You weren’t the only ones. There was plane that crashed before you, and I was on that first plane.”
“You were on the second plane.”
Tube Karl shook his head. “Yes and no. That was someone else.”
“It was you.”
At that, both Karl’s pressed their palms against their foreheads in an identical display of frustration. Once that moment passed, the same producer started to speak once again. Before he did, he looked over toward Deadpool. “Wade can attest. The last time we had a public event, I had a lot of… angry faces. So I did what any reasonable person would do, and I created a stash of backups for a ‘rainy’ day. In this instance, I stopped reporting back to headquarters, so one of the backups would have been woken up to replace me. It’s quite possible that they a few others may have been woken up as well to help seek me out.”
Hiro furrowed his brow. “So… the Karl on the plane wasn’t the real Karl?”
“Of course he was. He had everything he needed to be me, except the ability to manipulate omnilium. I mean, come on, could you imagine the panic if people thought I was gone?”
“So many tears.” Deadpool replied, although it was hard to tell if he was serious or making a mockery of the executive.
“Exactly, thank you Mr. Wilson.”
At that, the counselor-themed Karl interjected. “He’s White Lightning now, Karl.”
“Oh, I do like that… what about the brown one?”
“Chocolate Thunder.”
At that, both Karls started to chuckle for a few moments. They were only stopped when a frazzled Hiro tried to reel the conversation back.
“The crashes, though.”
“You would think, if you created the climate, that it wouldn’t conspire against you,” prime Karl remarked. “Tropical storm.” The man made a fist and smacked it into his palm. “Lightning strike brought me down… I imagine your crash was intentional. I’m not sure why they wouldn’t just land normally here… seems like a waste of a plane.”
“Maybe the Island did it? Oh! Another secret bunker? With an EMP? I bet you someone forgot to press the button, damn it!” Deadpool snapped his fingers and scowled behind his mask.
Prime Karl snickered and turned to Hiro. “We need to get off this island. Everything here needs to be formatted.”
“What?” Hiro asked.
“For someone who is supposed to be smart, you take a while to learn.” Prime Karl remarked, eliciting a snicker from both Deadpool and the other Karl. “The island wasn’t like this. It was just a seaside town with some mining operations.”
“What’s with the wacko shit?”
At that, prime Karl frowned. “I believe that’s partially my fault. The people who found the wreckage of my plane would have brought me here to recover, but a comatose prime is an awful thing, you see. Their minds are still working. A wandering mind surrounded by a world that can be mutated by sheer force of will? I can only imagine that the results were so worse because this place was made by me to begin with, which would have made it all the more susceptible to my subconscious thoughts.”
“You’re telling me that we’re living in one of your nightmares?”
“OH!” Deadpool shouted, snapping his fingers once again. “Super Mario Bros. 2! Does this make me the plumber?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Chocolate Thunder,” prime Karl replied after smiling faintly at Deadpool’s ‘deadpooling.’ “I design competitive events for a living. A few of them were just… willed into existence by my unconscious mind. Once they were there, they just proliferated a little too quickly, which explains why I was never woken up. It also explains the extra mes.”
“I stabbed one of those.” Deadpool added, eliciting a snicker from prime Karl.
“Was it good for you too?” The prime inquired before unbuttoning and discarding his ruined t-shirt. “So unless you want to stay here, we should make preparations to leave.”
“If you’re real Karl, can’t you just magic us back?” The surprisingly coherent question came from the mercenary.
“Do I have a magic wand?” Prime Karl inquired. “We need to stop by at the Census Building before we head out of town.”
“Why?” Hiro demanded.
“Because I need the records there. All the records on the town’s population are stored there. Before we go, I need those documents.”
“For what?”
Prime Karl rolled his eyes. “Do you know how many secondaries I have? Do you think I remember everything while I’m thousands of miles away? I need the data so that, when I redo this island, it returns with the people who used to live here, rather than a bunch of random idiots who will need weeks of training to understand how to use a damn drill or bake a pizza.”
RE: [4-] The Town - Hiro Protagonist - 08-05-2016
The revelations came fast, one after another. The true Karl Jak had been missing for over a month, and had cleverly concealed that fact with the use of identical clones back in the main Omniverse. The Karl that Hiro and Deadpool had been traveling with was one such clone, and so was the one that had been on the plane. There was no telling how many others there were by this point, but something that Karl said stuck in the hacker's mind.
"When you recreate the island? So, basically it'll be like none of this ever happened?" Hiro asked hopefully, his true question a sentence away. Karl nodded sagely. "Everything will go back to normal. No cannibals, no serial killers, my favorite restaurant will be back in business."
The hacker blinked, swallowing in his throat, all of his optimism riding on this next answer. "Could you bring back Barry Sanderson?"
"I intend to, Chocolate Thunder. Who else is going to whip up Nagasake Bombs on my plane?"
"Wait.....really?"
Karl looked at him like he was stupid. "Yes, really. My employees have the best life insurance policy availible. Me."
So that's why Counselor Karl had said Barry was dead for good. He wasn't Prime Karl! The cloud of uncertainty and doubt and regret seemed to lift from his shoulders. Barry had been a good friend through this experience, and his untimely death now seemed like more of an inconvienient delay more than anything. He'd provided moral support, someone to talk with. Made the oppressive, spooky island that much more tolerable. If Hiro had struck out into the mists alone, he was reasonable sure he'd already be dead or insane. This wasn't his environment at all, and he'd already had his share of struggling to survive out in the elements. With the hacker's depressiom lifted by a simple words, his purpose was clear for now. Although the stress of his experience had worn him down. He hadn't had a shower in a day. Hadn't touched a real computer screen since he left his apartment.
Now he was just tired. He wanted to get off this fucking island, go back to his apartment, see how Madotsuki had been treating the place in his absence. And then he wanted to take a vacation, bid the Danteverse goodbye, and never partake in such a stupid endeavor again. Well, maybe. He'd have to see in the future.
For now?
They were getting the Fuck. Off. This. Island.
Focus.
Hiro looked at the two Karls and spoke to the Counselor. "I assume you're staying here." Both Karls nodded while Counselor responded. "That would be correct, Chocolate Thunder. I've served my purpose." He gave a saucy wink as well. "And it's been a pleasure traveling with you. Take care, my little samurai!" He gave a theatrical wave as Hiro brushed his flirtatious goodbye off and studied the terminal attached to the medical tank.
"Karl Prime, you mind if I take some info off this computer?" The bedraggled Karl nodded and waved a hand himself. "You're mostly going to get junk data. All the important information pertaining to me was purged when I was revived."
Hiro ran a wire from his wristcomp to the terminal and muttered' "Every little bit counts." He finished as the data was copied over and straightened up, giving the room one last look for anything else useful he could scavenge. Just tubes and wires and....toys. Eurgh. Nothing else useful here.
"So first it's a stop to the Census office, then down to wherever we leave here from? Alright! I was in the mood to kill-slash-dance with more zombies. Plus, there might be hot interns in a public building, just waiting to be rescued!"
Deadpool theorized happily as the three exited the isolation room, Hiro having to lend an occasional arm to Karl so he could lean on it. The man was far from decrepit, but he was unarmed and obviously still recovering from his month long coma. Hiro interrupted the mercenary's fantasizing. "Uhh..Wade? You might want to worry about having to get Karl there safely. He still looks a bit.. "
"AIDS-y?"
The hacker facepalmed. "Not how I would put it but..." Karl gave a chuckle of his own that led into coughing. "Aww, look at my boys, worried about little old me. I assure you, I'll be more than fine." The spandexed mercenary stood straight up and declared emphatically. "Exactly! Besides, I'm a smooooth pimp who loooves the ladies, and skinny here is my black manservant! You dig?"
Hiro just shook his head as Karl summoned the elevator with the handprint scanner. The shirtless samurai looked around the sparsely decorated break room and walked over to the fridge while they waited for their upward conveyance. Inside was something that if not physically helpful, was spiritually helpful. A sixpack of beer and a couple powerbars.
"Karlsberg....you make your own beer?" Hiro asked, before cracking a can and taking a long refreshing slug. "Hiro, Hiro.....I pay people to make me beer." The producer responded, wiping his forehead and attempting to wring some of the moisture out of his hairdo. Cracking the rest of the cans out of their plastic rings, Hiro tossed one to Deadpool and slotted the rest of them in his belt. He devoured two of the PowerBars and tucked the rest into a pouch, before checking the status of his Katana, wristcomp, goggles, and the stolen machete.
Hiro was locked and loaded, ready for action....but something was missing. As they rode the elevator back up to the office floor, he tried in vain to put his finger on it but still couldn't quite grasp it. Until...
There.
Hanging off the back of an office chair was a blazer....and a loose tie. The street samurai grabbed the long stripe of black and yellow striped silk, wrapping it longways around his head, above the goggles sitting on his nose, into a makeshift sarariman headband.
Quote:[spoiler][/spoiler]
RE: [4-] The Town - Amaterasu - 08-05-2016
"Okor! Where the... wait for me, goddamnit!" Fiara yelled. The Plague Marine had apparently decided to take off without her, while she was finishing up business with Arturia. As such the Phoenix had run after him using the more than obvious trail of rot that he left in his wake. She knew not what was happening to Arturia in just these moments... and that was a good thing. Instead she now ran after the Plague Marine who had visibly lost his interest in her. Well... that came to no big surprise, considering where he was, and more importantly who he was surrounded by. As Fiara rounded a corner she nearly fell on her back due to the shock of what she saw. A whole lot of nope, basically. These... things, they were like the one that they had encountered in the mines. Or no, they were just similar, yet different... could it be savages who had been rejected, as that massive beast in the caves had said? The Ascended, or whatever it was called? Well either way, she wasn't going to ask them.
Okor was completely lost in the ensuing slaughter, and really Fiara couldn't blame him. She'd noticed what his nature was, he'd told her... made to kill. A beast. There was the mixed feelings again... he was a beast, a killing machine, but he protected her, protected her life. She shuddered. Was she experiencing him letting out his pent-up desire to kill against these abominations? She remained at a more than reasonable distance, cowering behind a low wall and peeking over. The abominations were all way too busy with him to take notice of her, let alone go for an attack. She wasn't defenseless either, but if she walked into that carnage she may end up as collateral damage. Not to mention that she had no reason whatsoever to BE in that fight right now. So she waited.
If she could just make it out alive, she could find Amaterasu, tell her everything... if she died, Arturia could pass the message and everything else. But she was starting to feel like this whole island had something more to it than just those mines. There was a town with more abominations. Those savages who'd attacked... the monster in the depths... the rejected ones that had chased them through the lift... the sickness that had taken Arturia and Carmelita... it felt like a bunch of hazards had piled together onto a single island to create a hostile zone. She was starting to feel like she'd lost track completely. But Okor was after some friend, right? Maybe this would be her big moment - her opportunity to break away from him and stop being a bother to the Plague Marine, find someone less... less like he was, and find a way to get off this island. There was little doubt left that whoever lived here wouldn't survive for long. The Syntech employees that had accompaigned them had all bitten the dust. And still they had found no trace of the other crashed plane. The whole thing was a single enormous mess.
As Okor finished his gruesome spectacle Fiara stood up behind the wall but said no word. He would know that she was there, would he not? He was a fighter, they were aware of their environment to a degree that was borderline unnatural. She'd keep following him... for now. But stay at a safe distance, especially now that he had freshly finished a slaughter. Who knew what sort of chems his battle-made body was under, what sort of stimulants were being pumped into and through his bloodstream, what sort of state he was in? He may not even recognize her as a friend... well, a non-hostile target anyway. He may be lost in a battle trance and just kill whatever moved, then require a few minutes to calm himself. She had no idea. And that was just one more reason for her to part ways with him when the opportunity presented itself. Chance may have brought them together, if only temporarily, but now reason had to take them back apart. As soon as she found another individual, or perhaps a group, with who she could travel safely.
RE: [4-] The Town - Gildarts - 08-05-2016
The dust settled while the sniper’s head spun with hankering beats of nausea. Her palm met her forehead which had been contaminated by a gradual headache, “Red?” she looked over at the other corner of the lift. “Red?” she said again, hurrying over to the Simba’s side and shaking his matted pelt, hoping to see the rise of his ribs.
It came, Thank god. Her good hand patted him between the available space of his ears, while a soft pattering came from outside the steel door of this rickety piece of shit. It sounded like a steady drum of hail, but she knew better than that.
Silence. The rogue let it fill the air, hopefully the carnivorous enemies would forget the sound of their crashing descent, but that wasn’t something she was willing to bet her life on. Who could’ve guessed that ace bandage was just as good as duck tape when attaching a sword to the end of a rifle.
Yes, I made a motherfucking bayonet.
The banging from the outside hadn’t stopped, instead, fell into a drone of monotony, with a pace that sounded like a clock, slowly ticking until she had the strength to pry open the door. Red’s ears perked just as she had completed the tie, which she held with her fingers and she pulled it taught with her teeth. Mutual smiles formed as he began to speak, but Christa shook her head and pointed to the sealed doors. With her eyes, she asked if he was ready. Nanaki shook off the dirt from his pelt and with a solemn nod, confirmed.
One arm, this oughta be good. Christa winced painfully as her fingertips were jammed into the spaceless fold and after a sweat-filled moment, she found herself finally making an inch of leeway. Red had perched at the ready, close to the doors, but in this case, he doubted he could lunge faster than one of the animated dead.
A retching sound came from above and there was an immediate crash through the panels of the elevator’s ceiling, which were no longer intact. Instead, a zombie fell into their little box and hurled itself into a standing position, tackling the human to the closest corner. Confined spaces were a bitch. Gaping jaws and a curling tongue spat tainted goo into her hair, while she exerted her energy in a violent struggle, playing tug of war with her own body, doing all she could to keep the creature from taking a bite. It roared with defiant rage and trumped her with a new wave of attenuating brute strength, releasing a cackling hiss as it snarled, mouth open, and dove in head-first.
That was when Red’s giant claw fell down along the wilting skin of the undead’s back, forcing it to the ground. Goop spattered as the victor stomped on the mush of its limp skull with her heel, barely blinking her grateful eyes at Nanaki. Christa stole a single breath before she opened the elevator door.
RE: [4-] The Town - Zack Fair - 08-06-2016
Sometime in the past few hours, Abner had exceeded his threshold for bullshit. He wasn’t entirely sure when he’d crossed the line. It might have been when he was being chased by one zombie horde, or another one. Perhaps it was when the fanged beast had pursued them into this town. It could have even been when the plane crash had put him here in the first place. Whenever it was, he’d been too busy trying to keep himself and the others alive to really take the time to be contemplate the absurdity of the situation.
He still didn’t have the time, sprawled out on the roof with his foot caught in a twisted piece of rebar. There were a lot more important things to do, like get his foot out and get back to his feet. Running from the ghouls that were now making their way onto the roof was also a good idea. He took just one second to snarl and do something he wanted, for a change.
“Goddammit!!!”
Feeling insignificantly better, Abner kicked away the rebar and rose to his feet. He held his arms out as he struggled to catch his balance for a brief moment. He still felt like shit, and the sudden rise had caused the blood to rush to his head, disorienting him for several precious seconds.
“Hurry up, Abner!” Trent called as he descended from the roof via a convenient ladder, just barely behind Colonel.
Great, even the kid was yelling at him now. This just kept getting better. The one consistent thing was that Colonel was leading them in the correct direction. Not far from them, smoke rose from a flaming library. Abner had little doubt that it was Christa’s ability to show up the apocalypse with even more chaos at work. All he had to do was get to her. He didn’t exactly know what he was going to do once he reached her, but that was a thought for later.
Just as he approached the ladder, he watched it tilt sideways and drop out of his sight. He was forced to stop, and looked down to see Colonel and Trent fending off a small crowd of deformed ghouls at the street level. Someone had bumped the ladder in the process, because Abner could see it lying uselessly on the asphalt below.
He instinctively checked his surroundings in a hurry, and it was a good thing he did, because he saw another one of those long tongued, smoke filled creatures that he and Trent had battled at the radio station jump onto the building top with him. It was terrifying, gruesome, and horrifically deformed. Yet, Abner could only roll his eyes. He was familiar with this creature’s bag of tricks, already.
It was already too close to effectively utilize its long tongue, so the smoking zombie moved in and flailed wildly with its arms. Abner quickly caught both wrists in his own hands, and sidestepped, throwing the ghoulish man to the ground. The zombie flipped and landed on its back, and immediately lashed its giant tongue upwards at the prime. Abner jumped aside, and watched as the creature’s massive tongue wrapped around a heavy pole.
With the Smoker stuck, momentarily, Abner took that opportunity to stomp his foot directly on its face. The zombie roared out in pain as several internal pieces shattered, and although it was unable to free its tongue, it pulled itself to its feet with it as leverage. Abner watched in bewildered horror at such an odd sight, but just as quickly gritted his teeth and charged forward.
With all his might he tackled the Smoker, hoping to knock it to the ground so he could hack away at it with his knife. What happened instead was the creature struggled to stay on its feet, and stumbled back a few steps. It bumped the small wall at the end of the roof, and suddenly went over the ledge, taking Abner with it.
Abner tightly clutched the zombie as they fell, unsure of what else to do. They slammed into a balcony rail halfway down, and bounced right off. They continued their descent to the ground, when the smoker’s tongue suddenly ran out of slack, and it abruptly stopped its fall only six feet from the ground. The snap from the sudden stop caused both of them to stop falling and bounce slightly back upwards together, but Abner lost his grip and dropped to the ground, landing on his back.
Trent rushed up, looking at Abner’s prone body and the hanging zombie in terror. He’d witnessed the entire fall, but didn’t know what to think of such a surreal sight. Had he seriously just seen a man ride a zombie down a building? Colonel approached as well, fresh from slaughtering the small pack of ghouls. He looked at the hanging Smoker first, and was quick to decapitate it with his beam sword. The head remained suspended by the long tongue, while the rest of the body landed near to the prone, groaning former Stormtrooper.
“Am I dead yet?” Abner moaned as he looked up at Colonel and Trent.
“You should be so lucky,” Colonel replied as he deactivated his energy sword.
Abner blinked, but kept an emotionless face. Had it always been there, or had the machine actually picked up on his sarcastic humor?
“Dammit,” Abner mumbled as he gazed up at the night sky.
Colonel simply extended his arm to help Abner to his feet. “Get up.”
There was the robot he knew. Abner took Colonel’s hand and allowed the soldier navi to pull him to his feet. He looked before them, at the entrance to building with an entire top level still aflame.
“You think the one you talked to is in here?” Colonel asked as he surveyed the building, as well.
Abner didn’t like Colonel’s shade of monotone, so he frowned in response. “I told you she’d make a hell of a signal, Sparkplug. Look at this place. There’s nowhere else she could be.”
“You’d better be right,” Colonel remarked as he began to make his way towards the building.
Trent glanced between the two, then hurriedly followed after Colonel. Abner wanted to show a little more snark, but Colonel had a good point. Hopefully she was in there.
RE: [4-] The Town - Albert Wesker - 08-06-2016
The fact that the building was on fire was, contrary to what it might have been in any normal and reasonably sane situation, a very good sign. It was a sign that there was someone in there, someone alive and with enough wits left about them to use fire as a weapon. And that meant a survivor. Which, hopefully for Abner's sake, also meant this woman, Christa, he was so certain was still alive, would be said survivor. "If there are survivors in there," he started to say, earning a scowl from Abner which he pointedly ignored, "it's likely they've barricaded the way in after themselves. I don't doubt the town's residents have taken care of that in one way or another, but on the off chance they haven't..."
"We could always try knocking," Abner muttered under his breath. "Look, something as simple as a blocked door isn't gonna slow us down. Not after all the shit we just crawled through to get here."
It was true enough, without a doubt. If they could be stymied by something as mundane as a barred door, even in the sorry condition they were in, they would be a sorry excuse for survivors, indeed. Trent wasn't liable to be of much help against even such an easy to overcome obstacle, given his own state at the moment. He could be excused from the equation without any hindrance, really. But...a former soldier and a literal war machine, brought low by a locked door? It would be a comically tragic tale, if there would've been anyone left alive after the fact to relate it.
For a few merciful moments, their trek to the building in question was clear, the ghoulish hordes all behind them and skirting around the buildings they had gone over, or off somewhere else, dealing with anything else that caught their interest. And, most probable, in the library they were marching straight toward.
"Anyone else get the feeling we're....I dunno, walking into a trap, or something?" Trent suddenly spoke up, earning a confused stare from the former stormtrooper and a blank look from the soldier navi. "I-I mean...." the secondary quickly tried to put his frazzled thoughts in order. "It's just...bunch of locations you never really want to go to, in situations like these, y'know? Military bases, the sewers, hospitals..." He looked up at the burning section of the library's upper level. "....libraries."
"You been watchin' too many zombie movies," Abner muttered, shaking his head.
Colonel just stared at the young secondary without saying a word, until Trent just looked down, seeming embarrassed to have even brought it up.
"And besides all that...if it was a trap," Abner went on. "...then whoever set it would probably end up getting caught in it themselves, unless they had another way out of the building."
"Not impossible," Colonel supplied immediately. "Service exits, or underground storage with exits to the outside." His eyes flicked to the upper levels. "....or a window, if they were desperate." That earned a snort of derision from the once-stormtrooper, and a draining of the color from the young syntech employee's face, likely as he imagined making such a jump.
"Yeah...a window. Right. Need to be pretty desperate, and more than a little crazy, to resort to that. It'd be a hell of a drop, from the eighth floor."
Colonel actually went silent, calculating that as he tromped closer to the building. "If it came down to it, I could make such a drop without serious damage," he commented simply.
"Right...of course you could." That Abner was rolling his eyes was evident in even his tone.
Trent had taken the initiative this time, and hurried on ahead to reach the building. He made his way slowly along one of the walls, looking for any sign of a door. It wasn't hard to tell there wasn't any such thing on the wall they first approached, but rounding one corner, they struck proverbial paydirt: a loading dock, the heavy steel shutters still down and intact. Dented and tarnished with all manner of blood and other assorted unpleasant fluids and stains, but intact and, hopefully, still locked.
"Well, look at that...we got us a way in." Striding on up to join the secondary, the human prime looked up at it. "Praise be to the probable ostentatious inventory probably shipped here," he remarked. "Gimme a hand here, would ya?" he jerked a thumb up at the panel to open the shutters. With an exertion of effort, the young secondary was hoisted up so he could reach the panel. But when he smacked the big green 'OPEN' button, there was no response. No sign of movement, of the shutters even thinking about opening. No electronic hum of power, or even warning blare to alert an error somewhere, or something in the way of them opening. Just nothing. "Ah, shit...figures the damn thing would be broken...."
"What do we do now? Find another door?" Trent looked from Abner to Colonel, where his eyes went wide. "W-Whoa, what are you--?!"
The war machine's answer was heralded by the gleaming barrel of the massive cannon he'd last used against the beast that chased them into town, pointing right at the loading bay shutters. "Knocking."
With an exasperated groan from the former stormtrooper and a yelp from the young syntech secondary, they both broke off to either side, clearing the way, and a second later, there was a heavy, echoing woosh, a terrific thudding boom, and the steel shutters were gone amid a blaze of fire and shrapnel, throwing up a huge cloud of dust, and sending bits and pieces of rubble raining down over the immediate area.
"How about a little warning, next time?!" Abner grunted, waving away the dust from in front of his face.
"We're in a hurry," was all the response the soldier navi gave as he dismissed the massive tank gun, striding toward the now-open portal into the library. The floor of the loading dock was nearly his head height, but he hopped up without any apparent effort, vanishing into the swirling clouds of dust and smoke his entrance had made. "We shouldn't stand around. That was like sounding a dinner bell for the ones already chasing us."
A renewal in the intensity of the howls and inhuman shrieks of the deformed townspeople in pursuit served to follow his statement, and the distinct thud of another of the impossibly agile, powerful jumping undead ghouls landed in the new patch of gravel and steel, leering hungrily at the two humans still outside.
"Yeah, yeah, message received, HAL," Abner grumbled, lifting his rifle as he jerked toward the loading dock with his head. "Trent, get on up there. I'll buy you a couple seconds." The young secondary needed no second bidding, and scrambled crazily, hauling himself bodily up onto the floor of the loading bay, wheezing pitifully as he finally made it up, and hurriedly crawling away from the edge as he regained his feet and dashing headlong into the darkness beyond the swirling mists of debris.
A trio of quick shots staggered the Hunter, leaving it reeling, and Abner turned about, clambering up onto the loading dock. He gained his feet again and spun around just in time to see the hunched form of the Hunter already hurling itself through the air. "Shit!" He brought up his arms to brace for the expected impact, only to hear a dull, faintly metallic thunk instead, and find the ghoul grasped by the face in a huge, metal mitt.
Colonel's hand slowly closed with greater force around the withered skin of the Hunter's face, the heat coursing through his systems slowly starting a faint sizzle as the mostly-dried blood and moisture of fog on the creature's flesh started to burn off. An audible screech of protesting servos later saw the ghoul's head crushed to a viscous pulp, shards of bone and ruined grey matter splattering out through metal fingers, steaming and hissing as it dripped to the floor below. Listlessly, the war machine kicked the now headless corpse out of the loading bay, and lifted his re-activated saber, turning his eyes toward the roof.
Abner looked more than a little confused, following the cybernetic warrior's gaze. "The hell are you doing now?"
"Blocking off pursuit."
Before any protest could be made, the emerald blade struck out, carving a stroke of green lightning across the roof and shearing through it, sending a shower of rubble crashing down. Brick, wood, metal, and all manner of wiring and supports within the wall slowly collapsed and splintered, cascading down to fill in the gap. It wasn't pretty -- and it damn sure wasn't quiet; anyone for half a mile around probably heard the racket it made -- but it did quite effectively block any chance of pursuit from that direction.
".....you're fucking insane," the former stormtrooper flatly stated, waving another cloud of grimy air away from his face.
"What...what the hell was all that?!" Trent practically whined, slowly shuffling over to rejoin them. "They can't get in that way now, but anything already in here knows where we are now!"
The kid certainly wasn't wrong. "We can worry about that when we--"
He never got to finish, as the floor under them gave an alarming shift, a low rumble permeating the room.
Abner looked to be well beyond exasperated at this point. "....what. Was that."
A dull groan of splintering rock answered him, and the ground, spreading away from the collapsed wall in a fan shape, cracked and crumbled, falling away in a cascade of splintered foundation and ruined flooring, taking the three hapless survivors with it.
Quote:1672 words, according to on-site wordcounter.
RE: [4-] The Town - Kenpachi Zaraki - 08-06-2016
The huntress and the hound slipped silently through the divided doors, performing more of a shuffle than a walk. Though the elevator’s safety systems had ensured that they would incur no lasting damage, there was nothing like falling 8 stories to make one feel a bit unsteady. Compounding this was the nigh-constant rush of endorphins that accompanied fighting off cannibals, elementals, and the undead at every turn. All in all, things could certainly have been better.
“A basement,” the burgundy beast noted, attempting to catch his breath. He gazed around the area, noting the presence of various supplies. “Do you think we’re safe here?”
The blonde opened her mouth to reply to her ally, only to be silenced by a deafening crash from above. First Floor. Had the undead army who had corralled them in the library in the first place finally broken through their barricade? Before he could give it much thought, however, the ceiling split above them, depositing its occupants and a mound of rubble into the center of the cellar.
As the dust cleared, those involved raised their heads to survey the damage. Red immediately looked up, letting his gaze rest upon a trio of newcomers, a group that looked decidedly non-zombie. The tallest among them looked to be some variety of robot, his arm terminating in a cannon, his body clad armor. Beside him was a frazzled looking young man in a dirty Syntech uniform and a scruffy fellow armed with a fair few firearms. The threesome looked to be just as surprised as Red at their sudden arrival.
“Abner-” Christa cried, though her greeting was cut short by the sound of several heavy somethings colliding with the roof of the elevator car. She stole a glance at the compartment before turning back to the grizzled gunman, sharing a look that spoke volumes. A smile. A nod.
“Follow me,” the mammoth machine commanded, a loud whine becoming audible a moment before a deafening boom as the rusty iron doors of the basement's bulkhead exploded open.
The 5-piece scampered quickly through what remained of the entryway, allowing the loose chunks of iron door to swing free upon the mangled hinges. They needed to run, though common sense told each of them that such a feat would not be advisable in their condition. Under the dim, flickering light provided by the blaze engulfing Karl Jak’s office, Christa caught sight of what could have been the closest thing to heaven at that point: A double cab pickup. “Let’s go!” she all but commanded, grabbing Abner by the arm and dragging him along behind her. The rest quickly followed suit, Colonel taking up the rear.
“The keys in the ignition?” Abner inquired, popping open the passenger side door and sliding onto the leather seat. Beside him Christa took her position, immediately ducking beneath the dash.
“Something like that,” the blonde answered, as Nanaki hopped into the bench seat beside Trent. Sparks flew from exposed wires beneath the steering wheel as she worked her magic; in a matter of moments the engine sprung to life, humming faithfully. A smile slid across the ex-trooper’s face as she revved the engine, glancing into the rear-view and silently performing a head count.
Colonel clamored into the bed of the vehicle, taking a knee and aiming his formidable blaster toward the rear. “Drive,” he monotoned, eyes locked on the incoming surge of flesheaters. Electricity crackled at the end of the barrel as the car took off, the enforcer raining explosive concussive blasts onto the street that rent the asphalt, toppling their would-be executioners.
The truck whipped down the dilapidated city streets like a bat out of hell, Abner taking pot shots at approaching zombies as they stumbled into view. Christa kept her one functioning arm busy with controlling the speeding auto, gripping the wheel tightly. Beside her she could hear the shrill bleep bleep of her radar laying in the ex-trooper’s lap, urging them forward. Dead ahead lay what could only be their destination, a towering office building that stuck out among the sea of residential buildings. Before it, yet another horde of the animated corpses.
“Hold on!” Christa yelled, loud enough for the mechanized man in the rear to make out. He obliged as she pinned the gas, headed straight for the shambling dead. The blonde bit her lip as she compelled the truck forward, bracing for impact.
Taking note of their inevitable collision, Red clamped his eyes shut, gritting his teeth hard as he channeled a massive amount of magicka through his body, the excess energy enrobing the vehicle in turquoise light. Mere seconds later they collided with the fleshy barricade, the mako-infused F-150 tearing through the attackers like a hot knife through butter. Gore splattered over the windshield as the leprous walkers were obliterated. As they cleared what remained of the undead army, Christa stomped the brake, coming to a stop mere feet from the front door. A beat later the door sprang open, a trio of individuals striding into view.
“Well, hello everyone.”
Fatigue Wrote:2398 words, both posts
RE: [4-] The Town - Karl Jak - 08-06-2016
End of Round 12
Quote:Colonel has been eliminated from final prize contention.
The rest of you in your cluster fuck can... figure out what to do.
Okor/Fiara - You two wildcards just keep me in the loop.
I'm not sure if Gin-Remi will come back here or not given developments -- let me know
RE: [4-] The Town - Deadpool - 08-06-2016
After listening to Karl’s revelation, and absorbing every word of it, the mercenary had but one question: did this mean he won Dante’s Abyss?
He looked at the real executive as they left the elevator and asked, ”So I get the grand reward, right?”
“Grand reward?” Karl scoffed. “For what?”
Counsellor Karl opened the briefcase that he had grabbed from the bunker; Prime Karl pulled clothes out of it—a casual outfit consisting of a black button-down, blue jeans, and black sneakers—and began to dress himself.
”For saving you,” Deadpool replied. ”This isn't the slaughter-fest of old D.A.'s, so I'm presuming that the reward—the one that motivated half of the survivors to come here—is claimed by finding and saving you.”
“I don't mean to burst your cancerous balls, but you haven't saved anything yet.”
”After the census building then.”
“After we're off this damn island,” the executive retorted, rolling back his sleeves. “How about that?”
At their current pace, the mercenary deduced that arriving to the census building could take another month. He massaged his temples with his hand.
“Tell ya what.” Karl reached into his slacks and pulled out a tube of ointment, handing it to the mercenary. “Take this.”
Deadpool picked his head up to look at the product. ”Bengay?”
“No, Wade.” The executive rolled his eyes over to the gunshot crater in the mercenary's shoulder—it looked like a bleeding asshole. “It will help with your wound, since you seem so reluctant to self-heal.”
Deadpool wrinkled a smile into his mask. ”Thanks, I didn't really wanna use my remaining SP to regenerate.”
The executive looked at Deadpool as if he knew what the mercenary meant, and returned the smile. “I'm gonna need my favorite merc’ in top-form—“ he giggled at how he phrased the comment “—who knows what awaits us.”
Hiro walked back over to the rest of them, confidence exuding from his visage; a piece of cloth wrapped his forehead—black and yellow stripes ran diagonally like a chevron sign. In combination with his goggles, he reminded the mercenary of a highway worker signaling people to merge left.
”Bro, you don't look like Afro Samurai, you look like Captain Roadway-tape”
Both Karls laughed in an irksome synchrony, then shared the same remark: “Cute.”
“By the way, Karl,” the executive turned to his clone, “any sight of Christa and the dog?” The copy shook his head. “I see . . . well If they arrive, update them on the situation; same with anyone else.”
Counsellor Karl nodded. “You didn't drink all the Karlmeleon, did you?”
“Nope. Help yourself.”
The two embraced, sharing a few compliments of narcissistic affection before Karl patted his clone on the shoulder. “This is farewell, me. If you somehow don’t live through this, I’ll make sure to recreate you just as you were—an exact duplicate of my sexy self.”
The slightly revised trio made their way out of the building. They retraced their steps down the stairwell, stopping one floor above the sewage disposal level Hiro and Deadpool entered through earlier.
Deadpool spent the time catering to his gunshot wound. The mercenary squeezed some of the medi-gel onto the tip of his finger, and stuck it into his wound. He winced, triggering Karl to make a slick remark: it's just a little pressure, sweetie.
“There's the exit!” Hiro pointed at the revolving door, and strode across the lobby; Deadpool and Karl followed his lead.
As they neared the door, Deadpool saw a truck covered in flesheater insides pull up out front. It swerved down the street before abruptly stopping with a sharp skid and trail of tire marks—skurrrrd!. The person in the flatbed flew back, slamming into the rear window.
”That onomatopoeia means company, folks,” the mercenary said; reaching a hand near his utility belt, he passed through the revolving door.
The shotgun window of the pickup slowly winded down, revealing a middle-aged man with a woman beside him. Deadpool tried to depict the driver as she poked her head to gaze at them, but couldn't find anything on the forum that described her features.
More survivors meant more people; more people meant more slices of pie out of the mercenary’s reward. He was fine sharing 1% with Hiro, but no one else; and something told him that these new arrivals wouldn't be too fond of the idea.
”Fuck this.” The mercenary unclasped the Furby doll clipped to his utility belt, and pressed the button between its furry, plastic cheeks. ”Better luck next year!”
He overhanded the Furby towards the truck as if trying to catch a runner at home-plate. The doll twirled through the air, eyes pulsing a blue that glowed faintly in the soft fog. It bounced off the sidewalk and rolled under the truck.
Fire erupted from beneath the vehicle, engulfing it whole as flames rolled across the asphalt. The mercenary heard the sounds coming from the passengers—sharp screams, and pleas for help—and spectated with deep content. The man riding shotgun bashed the butt of his fists against the window, but his efforts did little more than make the glass quiver; the robot keeled over in the flatbed, gurgling electrical nonsense while its limbs welded to the truck; faceless lady broke her nails clawing at the door-handle.
BOOM!!
Under a mushroom of smoke and combustion, the truck shot into the air like a rocket lifting off. A rush of wind lashed out, and afterwards, the vehicle crashed back to earth in a clump of fiery, twisted metal. The flame crackled and spit glints of steel from its pit; everyone inside had been charred to the bone.
More pie for the mercenary.
“There's Christa!” Karl cheered. “And she has friends, how delightful. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”
Deadpool eased his hand away from the bomb. ”You know these losers?”
“Of course I do, I brought all of you here. While I must admit, I didn't expect this many people to still be alive, the more the merrier.” Karl walked down the steps, waving at the truck. “Would you happen to have room for three more?” He shouted.
Through her overgrown blond bangs, Christa peered at the executive; after a brief gaze, her blue eyes widened to the size of golfballs, and her lips drew over her teeth to snarl. “Karl!”
Oh ok, that's how she looks.
“The one and only,” the executive replied. “Why the long face, thought I was dead?” He reached the back door and opened it.
A man in a Syntech uniform sat on the other side; his eyes popped once he saw his boss staring at him. “Mr. Karl, sir, nice to see you!”
“Nice to see you too . . .” the man's name eluded Karl until he found the nametag pinned to his shirt. “. . .Trent. Mind if I sit here? By the look on Christa’s face, I assume she has a few words for me.”
“Y-yeah, sure!” the employee stammered; walking to the tail of the truck, he climbed into the flatbed.
Karl looked back before he stepped inside. “Chocolate Thunder, White Lightning, hop in the back with Trent. I like the idea of you two behind me, looking overtop of me.”
The robot stationed in the flatbed gave the two swordsmen a firm nod as they hopped in the rear of the pickup. “Pleasure to meet both of you.”
"Domo arigato misuta Robotto,” Deadpool replied. ”I remember you from the plane wreckage—you were the guy caught on the edge of that cliff with Geodude. I’m sure I could find the link for you, if ya want. It was ‘Rounds 1 - 2, The Tail’.”
The robot stared at him blankly.
“Don’t mind Deadpool,” Hiro said while chuckling. “It takes a while to get used to him.”
The bronze hacker then ignited a small conversation between he and the robot. Deadpool figured it was because of Hiro’s love for all things tech (he’d probably finger a usb port if he could). They exchanged names—the robot call itself Colonel—and began to converse about electronics. The hacker was visibly enamored by Colonel, and curious to learn how the robot functioned.
“Wher’re we headed?” the man riding shotgun asked.
“Census Building,” Karl answered. “I'm sure you all have loads of questions, and I'm prepared to take them.”
Quote:Word Count: 1473
Medigel used: +1 SP
RE: [4-] The Town - Gildarts - 08-08-2016
Karl sat in the back, a gleeful smile mounted on his face like a golden trophy. And why wouldn’t he be happy? He was alive, and surrounded by a militia of people who would protect him until they got off this overgrown rock. “Oh, take the next left,” Christa’s eyes glinted in the rear-view mirror. There was no way in hell she was taking anything from him anymore.
EEEEERRRRRKKKKK!!
The truck’s massive wheels shrieked as the one-armed woman swung it a full hundred and eighty degrees. Everyone was jostled out of place as they lurched forward with the abrasive swerve; Abner’s chin nearly missed the dash, and the suave man behind him had pressed his manicured-hand against the window as the other grasped Red’s fur. A low snarl, the true thunderous rumble that only comes from the throat of a lion, filled the quiet and still air before the driver’s seat door opened.
Karl turned to make a witty remark about her driving, but his mind was still reeling, he didn’t notice she’d abandoned ship. Kuh-thunk! His door opened next and the executive was ripped from his seat by the audacious woman who had grabbed him by the neck of his suit, ripping the fabric at the seams. Karl blenched as he heard the soft scream of his prized jacket, but before he could protest, she was nearly on top of him.
“WHERE. THE HELL. IS SHE?”
It was just her and him, everything else fell away. Christa encompassed by blind rage, had pulled everyone off for a pit stop, endangering their lives. Most are probably Primes anyway, she thought, as if that justified it. The group was lucky there weren’t any creature’s lurking on this dilapidated side street.
Christa held up a bruised fist, while the echoes of her vicious tone fell on the ears of the others. Deadpool was the first to hop up out of bed and remark, “Ahh shit, note to self: the hot blonde is on her cycle- CODE RED!”
Her eyes narrowed at this, she didn’t like it when people hid their faces behind a mask of lies, then again she didn’t like Mr. Purple over here either. Although she had pinned him up against the dented metal, her voice was now pleading and broke as the name crested her lips, “Where’s Katia?”
“Why Christa, I’m glad to see you too,” he looked down at her singular hand as though it was a cockroach crawling on him, well, he needed to stomp it with some tact, “You seem to think I’ve taken her captive, Ms. Adams, if you calm down for a second, we can get you up to speed.”
“There’s only one thing I want to hear, Karl, and you know it. I’ve gone through enough Hell on this island, enough of your lying bullshit. Where is she?” But he was rich, powerful, infinite and she hadn’t offered him a thing. This wasn’t an interrogation, it was a negotiation and she’d failed to bring a formidable bribe.
“Uh, hate to interrupt you guys but we’re in the middle of town, zombies could pop out any minute!” Trent said shakily.
“Calm down Christa, I won’t be manhandled by the likes of you–we’ll save that for later anyway– sure, you’ve got the gang back together, but I don’t see everyone. I said I’d tell you where she is, but this? I asked you to scratch my back and tsk, I know it must be hard for you to please anyone but yourself, but this just won’t do at all.”
“What? Just because I didn’t find some Wade guy who’s probably dead anyway,” she scowled at his petty desires, while he looked back at her as though she were nothing more than an attractive worm. “And I’ll get to the bunker, right after you tell me where.”
“He’s actually standing right here,” Red-suit interjected with an audible pout, “Aww, she didn’t bold my dialogue.”
“Hands, darling.” Hating herself, the sniper cringed and released his collar, “I see you’re as unstable as ever, Ms. Adams. Bunker’s old news I’m afraid, but I was telling you how to get to the Census building, but you don’t like to listen, do you?”
“Want me to punch you again?” she challenged, Red watched, half-pleased, “You’re playing your games with real people’s lives. She could be dead.”
“Now, now, that’s too rough.” he said to her fist, “And you could simply re-summon her.” This logic slapped her in the face.
“I’m not some sociopath like you Karl, treating your minions and those lesser than you like toys. My sister? She’s a real person, not because Omni made her that way, but because I did. Whoever took her could be torturing her,” Christa shivered as she tasted the reminiscence of pain fueled by guilt, “And that’s real, she’s a little girl, Karl, I’ve had enough of your games. It’s as simple as this, tell me, and I won’t blow your fucking brains out.”
By now, Abner and Red were by her side, not advocating her behavior, but not stopping it either. Though no one wanted to see the fabulous executive get shot, no one actually believed she'd do it, except Deadpool who wasn't taking any chances with his fellow woman-in-red. The mercenary lurched between her sniper-turned bayonet and Karl, “Can’t let you do that, if you kill him I don’t get my prize.”
“Yeah, me neither,” she admitted to mask-man, “But we’ll both end up back at the Nexus, and then maybe, he’ll realize how serious I am. He’ll be rescued, by Omni himself. No census building for him. Hear that Karl? You die, you lose.”
“Thank you Wade,” Karl placed his hand on the crimson mercenary, “But she won’t shoot me, she’s too desperate-”
POW!
The crackle of broken glass sparkled next to his ear, “Did you think I was fucking kidding?” Deadpool drew his katana, sparked by her threat and thinking this was a shitty sequel to Civil War.
“Karl Jak. You have ten seconds, or you’re going to die. Again.”
RE: [4-] The Town - Kenpachi Zaraki - 08-09-2016
“Ten.”
Silence.
“Nine.”
“Lower it, sweetie. We’ve got places to b-”
“Eight,” Christa snapped, finger quivering on the trigger. A bead of sweat trailed down her dirty cheek, dripping onto her tattered shirt. From where Red stood, it could have easily been a tear.
“Okay,” Karl challenged, his playful smirk twisting to something slightly more menacing. “Go ahead. If you want to ensure that you get nothing out of me and that you’re sister is the worse for it, be my guest.”
“Seven!” The blonde announced, slightly louder, voice wracked with anxiety. It didn’t take a psychologist to see that she was at her wits' end. Whether Karl could truly predict her behavior when pushed to such an extreme was for anyone to guess.
The dapper executive took a step forward, lowering his face to press the tip of her makeshift bayonet to his nose. The muzzle now pointed directly between his eyes, threatening to gift him a third such socket. He made no verbal response, merely displaying the same fiendish grin.
“Six.” She brought the rifle up to brace against her shoulder, keeping the rifle’s sight evenly placed between the shyster’s mocking eyes. If the host wanted to play chicken, she was more than willing to oblige.
“Listen dollface,” the smart-mouthed swordsman quipped, “We don’t have six-hundred words to waste on your countdown-.”
“Five,” Christa all but whispered, ignoring the interruption entirely. Her hands had steadied, emotion draining from her eyes. Her chest rose and fell in a rhythmic cadence, slow and steady.
“Mr. Jak is the only one that can get us out of here!” Trent cried from his seat adjacent the mechanized man and the dark-skinned samurai. “The only one who can get me out of here.” Wade and his fellow swordsman exchanged looks, remaining silent.
Red caught sight of the young man, the look in his face telegraphing that he had clearly been working a job way beyond his pay grade. The boy seemed beside himself, unsure if he should be coming to the aid of his employer or simply remaining in the truck. Neither option seemed to offer much promise.
“Four.” None of those gathered spoke a word as the boy broke into tears, the weight of the situation falling on him all at once. Christa seemed to flinch as he sobbed openly, her finger momentarily leaving the trigger.
Karl noticed the minute movement, his smile widening as he straightened his posture, brushing dust from his previously clean suit. “Limp.”
As a cinder to kindling, the man’s words ignited the emotional powder keg beneath the surface. In one fluid motion the gunslinger reared back, raising her rifle and bringing the muzzle down hard over the producer’s cranium with an audible crack. Karl staggered slightly, bringing a hand up to press against his now bloodied coiffure. Before he could open his mouth to assault her with a snarky one-liner, she had pressed the jagged, gun-mounted blade to his throat. “One.”
It happened in an instant. Red reacted on instinct, leaping forward to close his jaws gingerly around the huntress’ arm. He held not a single positive emotion for the producer, no, though there was a very real possibility that murdering Karl would leave them stranded in the hellish town. What this meant for Vincent, he couldn’t know, though he was not willing to find out. With a firm grip on the woman’s bony arm, he made a quick jerking motion and pulled the barrel clear of Karl’s proximity as Christa’s finger squeezed tightly on the trigger. With a resounding boom the slug cracked the asphalt as Abner swooped in and grabbed her around her waist, lifting and pulling her away. She thrashed against her lover’s grip for a moment before the ex-trooper let her down softly, her uneven blonde locks hiding her hanging head as she fumed at the duo of 'saviors'. Abner stepped forward, ignoring her brooding, and pulled her into an embrace. "It won't get her back," Red heard him murmur.
“Well, that was fun,” the uniformed mercenary piped in, breaking the tense silence. ”You should probably get back in the truck, Karl, before she finds it in her to blow a load on you.”
Christa stood silent for a moment between the trooper and the lion, fixing them both with a smoldering glare. Finally she shouldered her rifle and turned toward the truck, raising her voice just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Let’s go.”
”Great,” Wade commented, clapping his hands together and leaping nimbly into the bed of the truck. ”Let’s get going. Hands where I can see ‘em you two,” he said, patting the dark-skinned samurai on the shoulder. ”We don’t need you passing viruses.”
The remainder of the group once more took their seats in the pickup as their blonde driver revved the engine, pinning the gas and taking off at a breakneck speed. No sooner had they jerked forward than the lion heard glass shatter behind him the butt of a katana coming into view. The mouthy mercenary poked his head into the cab, resting his arm on the jagged partition.
“Just like you Wade, to break a wall,” Karl quipped, shaking crystal shrapnel from his lap.
”You know you can’t keep me out. Besides, gotta keep my eyes on the prize,” he said, pointing to his own eyes, and then to Karl’s.
“Eyes off of my prize, thank you.” The swordsman stifled a laugh. At the sound of sniffling from the rear, Karl turned in his seat to look at his youthful employee sitting beside the mercenary. “Kristen,” he said, “She’s safe.” Trent quieted at the producer’s words, wiping tears from his eyes.
”Anyway, glad ol’ Karly here doesn’t have any extra holes. We’re fresh out of Phoenix Downs and we really don’t need an ‘Aerith incident’ on our hands.” He glanced at Nanaki, whose jaw now hung slack. “Too soon? Meh, Rinoa was better anyway,”
“It’s best to not even ask,” the executive said, catching Red’s gaze. “I suppose, though, since you went out of your way to stop your handler from harming yours truly, I could answer a few questions for you.”
The fiery feline sidestepped the remark, cutting straight to the chase. “Vincent Valentine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Where.”
“You got my gift didn’t you? That should answer that question for you. Though you won’t likely find service around here.” He glanced out the window, noting the dilapidated buildings and vacant streets.
”Vincent?” The masked man piped-in. ”Mopey type? Looks like he shops at Hot Topic?
Red snapped to attention at once, staring into the masked man’s ‘eyes’. “You know him?”
”I wouldn’t say know him, but he was briefly the second moodiest person on team Warpool Valenchiha last year." Wade scratched his masked chin with his gloved finger, staring wistfully into the night. ”He got struck by lightning. Good times.”
Nanaki opened his lips to respond to the man’s strange reply, though he could get no words out before the automobile lurched, flinging the unfastened passengers forward. The burgundy beast’s amber eye caught a blur in the headlights as Christa slammed on the brakes, the truck turning hard into a skid as it came to a halt.
RE: [4-] The Town - Carmelita - 08-09-2016
It was as Carmelita fought the controls and pressed override buttons that she noticed the little light that flashed red in the bottom of the screen. Her face paled as she realised all the connotations ‘no landing gear’ meant.
---
From the sky descended the escape pod, thrusters burning furiously and wings struggling to keep the ugly device airborne. Carmelita’s fiddling had turned the elegant arc it would have taken into something better resembling the trail of a drunk duck, twirling and whirling around until it straightened into a low, staggered glide towards the town.
Carmelita shot over the mine entrance, arcing down towards the town. By her reckoning, she had one, maybe two flybys in her flight path before she had to set down, so she had to make them count.
Below her ghoulish faces looked up in confused wonderment at the shooting star as it passed over the town, banking up and round down by the docks before it returned and passed over the records building. There were, of course, those that understood what they were seeing perfectly well, from the truck filled with armed primes to the unlikely pair who’d made their way from the mines.
Carmelita pulled the escape pod into its final approach, bracing herself for impact. A touch on the pedal to the left, a bit to the right, jerking the joystick up to land the rear end of the escape pod first, she squinted through her headache and grit her teeth. Keeping the pod straight with the rudder and glider wings, the capsule ploughed along the near empty street, decapitating a few hatchbacks and littering the streets with overturned rubbish bins. It ground its way up a hill, jets finally burning out, and came to a deceptively graceful halt outside the centre for the town’s bureacracy.
The windscreen was ejected forcefully by explosives, the piece of hardened plastic winging its way across the street and crashing into the facade of a stockbroker’s. Carmelita unbuckled herself, grabbed her luggage and, as she activated her cloak and faded from view, left a parting quip to the few ghoulish eyes that watched, stunned.
“I’m here to make a withdrawal. Don’t rush, I’m just dropping in…”
With that, the vixen’s cloak engaged properly and she hurried to the main doors, picking the lock and slipping inside under cover of invisibility.
RE: [4-] The Town - Okor - 08-10-2016
The rumble of an engine permeated the deathly silence of the city, echoing off of dilapidated ruins of the commercial district, eventually reaching the miserable remains of Okor’s ears. His horned head twitched, his singular eye staring off into the distance, attempting to track the sound of the vehicle. Survivors. He relaxed his grip on the throat of his latest victim, the lank hair of the banshee falling to the pavement, their neck bent at an unnatural angle, their long talons slowly sliding from his flesh as their corpse came to rest. As much as he was loathe to admit it, the beasts seemed to be adapting to their Prime prey. A weeping woman was ensured to elicit a response, regardless of whether their victim fancied themselves saviour or scourge.
But the time for such musings had long since passed, faded into the void along with the creature that had inspired them. The bones upon his waist rattled as he began his jog, pestilence being pounded into the pavement with each step, his dulled sensations struggling to pinpoint the approaching automobile. The embrace of Nurgle shielded him from pain, numbing every nerve within his corporeal form, replacing the callous cruelty of the world with naught but the ever-present love of the Lord of All.
His corroded claw crushed wood beneath its grip as he mantled over a collection of debris in an alleyway, the rockcrete and rebar impaling a still-moaning corpse, its rotten teeth gnashing as a month of meals passed it by. The growl of the engine came ever-nearer, the distortion granted to it by countless echoes slowly fading as he approached the source, the trophies and weapons hooked onto his armour bouncing off of the putrid plates.
Just around this corne-
His diseased bulk turned the corner, a gauntlet pushing off from the rockcrete surface as he pursued his mechanical quarry. The screech of stalled tires drew his attention as the massive construct attempted to stop itself, the iron grille growing to fill his vision. He threw his ceramite-plated arm in front of his body, adding another layer of armour to shield him from the impact.
It never came.
He slowly opened his crimson eye, staring at the vehicle that has almost crushed him beneath its weight. At least something can go right on this damned isle-
There was a crack of thunder as a firearm spat death, a bullet piercing his ancient armour, passing through the flesh and maggots writhing beneath, and entering his heart, the lump of lead coming to rest inside the long-rotten organ. Briefly shocked, the Plague Marine dipped a claw into his most recent wound, inspecting the opaque fluid dripping from the newly created chasm within his corpse as shouts and screams came from within the truck.
”Everyone gets… One.” He snarled, glaring into the eyes of the woman leaning out from the window, her facial features filled with barely-contained stress and panic, clearly beginning to suffer from the constant turmoil of the island, looking down the smoking barrel of a rifle.
Another shot rang out as a crimson-clad man squeezed through the window, sliding his fingers over the woman’s as he depressed the trigger, sending another round through his torso. Silence briefly reigned as all the parties present slowly turned to look at the madman, who simply shrugged. ”What? He said we all got one.”
“What are you?” Demanded the woman, her eyes narrowing as she held her weapon steady, attempting to shake off the vermillion villain grasping at her gun.
A familiar cybernetic head appeared over the cab of the vehicle, the Colonel gazing down at the Dean of Security. “He’s my commanding officer.”
The other inhabitants turned to stare at their mechanical ally, before returning their gaze to the rotting revenant, attempting to comprehend what could bring the stalwart steel-hearted warrior into the service of such a being.
“Are you infected?” Growled Christa, still holding the sniper’s rifle steady with one arm, eternally ready to fire the death-bringing round.
”I can assure you that whatever… Contagion runs rampant on this island, is nothing more than a mere cold in comparison to Nurgle’s gifts.” He chuckled, pausing briefly to cough, pale blood flowing into his rusted helm. He wiped his own vitae off on his gauntlet, smearing it with the opaque fluid as he moved towards the rear of the vehicle. ”I am Okor Paleblood, Dean of Security. I have ten… millennia of combat experience, more means to kill a man than are allowed by most universe’s peace treaties, and a great desire to continue laying waste to this beasts.”
He hauled himself over the partition of the bed of the truck, landing between a cowering secondary and his subordinate, and across from a familiar face. ”Ah, Hiro. I’m glad to see that you have so far... failed to impale yourself. Have you enjoyed yourself on this blasted island?” He spoke, a smirk undeniably spreading beneath his armour.
“This is such bullshit,” spat the Samurai, jabbing a finger at the Ancient Warrior. “First, I have to fight my way through a tribe of cannibals, then Barry kicks the bucket, I have to fight a bastard who might somehow be even uglier than you, and to top it all off, I’m stuck in a truck full of maniacs, with a case I don’t even know how to open.”
”A case, you say? Three digit code?”
“Yeah… Wait, how do you know?”
The corpse chuckled. ”Even in this land of constant creation, my Lord guides me.” He paused, closing his eyes as he attempted to recollect his memories of the combination.
”Three primes dead in the dark, one by beast, one by blood, and one by choice. An Eden set aflame in the thirty-ninth millennium, a paradise purged of life. Seven sevens less seven, a holy truth denied.”
The hacker simply stared at the rotting ruin before him, uncomprehending. Okor sighed, cursing the ignorance of this realm.
”Three. Thirty-nine. Forty two.”
Quote:1058 words according to the site.
RE: [4-] The Town - Hiro Protagonist - 08-10-2016
(Before Christa's post)
The three Primes and Trent the Secondary rode roughshod in the bed of the pickup. The ancient machine's shocks were subpar, every pothole and bump making the bed rise up and down. Hiro gave the kid a curt head nod, but he seemed distant and afraid, staring at the ruined buildings as they passed down roads and abandoned streets.
The mechanical looking fellow was wholly new to the hacker, so he performed his usual ritual of a quick scan, the Prime displaying some odd readings. "That's odd....so, hey. I'm Hiro, Hiro Protagonist. You, uh...you don't look too good."
Colonel looked back at him impassively. "I am Colonel. Vice Dean of Security for the Institute. And what do you mean by that?" The mechanical looking man had a strikingly lifelike visage, even if his skin and limbs were plating and pistons. But he had biological structure underneath, too. Or at least that's what it looked like, Hiro's scans revealing something flowing inside his body.
"I mean, like, you're pretty banged up, and you look like you're running really hot. Are you a cyborg, or a robot or something?". Hiro asked curiously. There was nothing like a functional android in his home universe. Most robots were simple industrial ones, arms affixed to rotating platforms. True artificial intelligence had yet to even be discovered. The closest approximation was personality profiles, meant to mimic the appearance and thought processes of a real person.
The robot gave him another impassive stare. "I am Colonel.EXE, what is known as a NetNavi in my world. A computer program, in layman's terms. Upon being brought to the Omniverse, I was given a physical body, formed of mechanical parts and software driven processes." He strained visibly to sit up straighter. "And no, I am not fully functional. Something on this island is causing me to overheat and interfering with normal operations."
Hiro's jaw had literally dropped, although he closed it quickly with a soft -clik- of his teeth snapping together. This was unbelievable, and incredibly cool. "So...uh. I'm actually a pretty darn good hacker. Mind if I take a look at your circuits, find out what's messing with you? You're, uh....you're kind of exactly what I've been looking for here. I've been trying to think of a way to get my programs into a physical medium for a variety of purposes."
Colonel was silent for a few blocks, as if thinking it over, while Hiro waited with the anticipation of a kid waiting to try out a new toy. Finally, he spoke again. "Yes. You may take a look." His tone didn't....change, per se. But it was loaded with much more weight somehow. "However....if you attempt any sort of malicious activity in regards to my software, my countermeasures will respond with lethal force. Is that understood?" Colonel extended an arm and a small panel popped open with a rudimentary interface and several ports, one of which fit the extendable USB connected to Hiro's wristcomp.
Lowering his goggles, he nodded at the robot and plugged his wristcomp in. "Absolutely crystal....now let's see here...."
(During Christa and Red's posts)
They had shuddered to a stop a couple minutes ago, and a bunch of people got out and started shouting at each other, but Hiro was far too engrossed in the intricate inner workings of the program-turned-machine. Colonel's physical data would provide him a wealth of blueprints to study and modify when he got back to Coruscant. A gunshot rang out and pinged the glass, the hacker briefly looking up, then dismissing it and returning to his work. Colonel was splitting his attention between the kerfuffle and Hiro, still not entirely trusting of the cyber samurai's altruistic bent. "Ah ha...here we go. You have a virus. A Chernobyl virus."
"Explain, please."
Hiro tapped the air and a floating, spiky orb the size of a canteloupe materialized in the air. "It's a type of code that will insert itself into critical operating pathways, taking up variable space and generally fucking with command executions. It's also been playing havoc with your cooling system. I've quarantined it for now, and you should be fine for a while, but you're going to need to purge and reset your BIOS before it's completely gone." He dismissed the holographic representation with another wave in the air and unplugged his cord from Colonel's arm. "Feel better?"
Colonel nodded and looked back over the side of the pickup bed. "It seems that we are moving once more. Good timing." Hiro nodded back and reclined against the sidewell, making sure all the data he gathered was saved and backed up. Although...shit. Would he rematerialize with the same stuff he died in? Or would he have to resummon his gear and therefore lose all that precious inspirational data? Shit.
The thought of having to try and remember all the intricacies of program-to-physical-form translating soured his mood a bit as they trundled down the streets once more, the hacker grimacing toto himself. He -had- to get off this island alive. And just as he thought that, the pickup bed buckled severely.
And in jumped fucking Okor.
--------------------------
"Three.....thiry nine....annnd....forty two."
-click-
Hiro opened the briefcase like a christmas present. He'd carried this thing across the entire island, brained a few zombies with it, and now he was finally going to get to see what was inside. And what was inside was purple, silky, folded....oh no.
Hiro turned his head around and knocked on the back of the passenger seat window. "Karl! Hey, Karl!!! "
The producer stuck his face up to the window and blinked nonchalantly as Hiro brandished the open briefcase, elegantly folded clothing and assorted accoutrements nestled inside. "Are you fucking kidding me? I humped this entire thing across the island for your dry cleaning? "
Karl chuckled and opened the window wider. "I was wondering where they would have put that. Anyway, look under the pants. That's what's really important anyways. Now would you mind passing me the suitcase? These things I'm wearing are a month old and covered in who-knows-what." Hiro dug around in the open box and withdrew a small, brass key along with a small box locked with a combination. Karl winked at him and reached for the suitcase, which Hiro wordlessly passed to him. A blank, disappointed look crossed the hacker's face as he stared at the key and the box. "That's the ticket. Keep those safe, Chocolate Thunder. Those two little items are our way off this island."
Behind him, Hiro heard a nasty, wet coughing sound. Turning and fearing a ghoul attack, the samurai was dismayed to see that it was Okor....and he was.. laughing?
"Bravo, oh intrepid adventurer. Your reward is clothing.....hhaaaghhk, haaagghk...haaagghkkk."
Hiro didn't bother dignifying that with a response.
RE: [4-] The Town - Amaterasu - 08-11-2016
Fiara was still running after Okor when the... thing flew across the night sky. A shooting star? No, it was way too large for one. Plus, it lacked the characteristic trail. She shielded her eyes as she observed its downfall and realized how close that thing actually was. It wasn't soaring across the sky, incomprehensibly far away. In fact it was flying lower than an average bird's flight-height! She considered taking cover for a moment but when she realized how it was flying away from her current position and would not pose an immediate thread - not even with any shockwave that it would undoubtedly release when impacting.
The way it soared through the sky reminded her of her parent, Moegami the Phoenix... it gave her a weird feeling in her throat, and she swallowed. No, this wasn't the time to get sentimental, she had to get off this place! Though she trusted Arturia, she still had her life at stake here. She had to try and get off the island. Thus she stood up and expected to see Okor, but found that he was gone! Had he left when she had been distracted by the object falling from the sky?! Well, from the mutilated remains that littered the space he had been in earlier, she could at least tell that he had vented his pent-up necessity for violence, if only temporarily. And there, she saw his unmistakable footsteps on the ground where he had gone towards... a roaring sound of some sort. An even bigger monstrosity? Had he not had enough fighting, or was he getting suicidal? She began running. Okor may be... well, Okor. But, she repeated to herself for the Amaterasu-knows-how-many-eth time, he protected her, and could help her with escaping.
She stopped dead in her tracks for a few seconds when first one, then another crack of gunfire tore through the town. So far none of the opponents she had encountered with her group had been able to use firearms, so it was only right to presume that it must have been Okor's weapon. Or maybe one of the other survivor's. Hearing none more, she continued her jog. Okor may be decently quick on foot but she was confident in her ability to catch up to him. She'd just need to be careful... if he had encountered more opponents, which given his gunfire was a possibility, he may be enraged again. She'd need to be careful in that case, as she had been earlier.
When she rounded a corner, a metallic behemoth of some sort could be seen not too far off. She could see Okor just as he was climbing into it. No doubt must it be some modern thing again... Okor seemed not to have a problem with it. And there were others. Had they not noticed her yet? It seemed so, but she was going to need to change that. Sneaking up on them would be the worst possible first impression. Well, outside of opening fire of course.
"OI!" She raised her hands and held them out to her sides, presenting herself to them as a means of showing that she was harmless. She saw a vague shimmer of metal being moved and leapt behind the wall again, just barely dodging a bullet that whizzed past. The corresponding crack of gunfire was much louder this time, given the proximity, and her ear rung from the bullet that had flown past. "It's me, Fiara! Don't shoot!"
She heard voices speaking, but around the corner they were too difficult to make out. Okor's indistinguishable tone however stuck out to her. The others she did not recognize, but there were several. He spoke to someone for a short while before another voice, female, shouted: "You can come out - slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them!"
"Okay. I'm coming out now." She first presented her hands, palms open, then followed up with the rest of her body. The Plague Marine was eyeing her, as was a woman who wielded what Fiara presumed to be the weapon that had been fired at her moments ago. "I'm with Okor, I said. I'm not with... that disease, to the best of my knowledge, at least I'm not feeling ill. I'm just another survivor from the plane wreck."
"Is she speaking the truth?" asked the woman without turning her head, but it was clear who she was adressing.
"She's tagging along with me. Not our opponent. Probably not infected."
The woman considered things for a moment before lowering her weapon. Fiara sighed with relief and approached the metal behemoth. "I followed you, Okor, you know. You already took off while I was with Saber, but I couldn't stay with them. Are those friends of yours?" She could only see one other person besides the woman and Okor himself, another human-like individual either clad in armor, or a metal-man as Marcus and Vision were.
"Some of them." He left it at that, not giving any introductions.
Fiara decided to not press any further and just climbed onto the back surface, careful to keep a distance from the Plague Marine, then looked at the bunch of unknown faces, some of who were looking back. Unsure of what to say she spluttered out: "Uh... I'm Fiara Moegami. Nice to meet you all."
RE: [4-] The Town - Zack Fair - 08-11-2016
With the new passengers aboard, Christa pressed her foot on the accelerator and the truck continued to lurch down the road. Abner had remained fairly quiet, on account of still feeling like hell. He’d even managed to not tell Okor, whose name he immediately recognized from Colonel’s account, to hurry it up, and instead listened to his speech. Progress towards patience.
The engine whined under the load of all the passengers, particularly the one made of solid metal and his matching plague-ridden ally. Abner couldn’t stop himself from reaching over and pressing the Tow/Haul button on the gear shifter, which allowed the truck to move only slightly easier. Abner wasn’t quite sure what to make of the look Christa gave him in response. She was driven, determined, focused. He figured it had everything to do with Katia, but he hadn’t found the time to get caught up with her developments during their separation. Indeed, the reunion hadn’t been quite as grand as he’d anticipated. Instead, they’d just kept pushing along, like usual.
They made it a short way down the road when they heard a booming crash near the census building. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much time to dwell on it, because the engine of the truck sputtered and gave out just over a block from their destination. Christa threw her good hand up as she looked at the instrument panel in frustration, and Abner looked to it as well.
“What’s wrong?” Red XIII asked from the backseat as the vehicle rolled to a stop.
“It fucking died on me,” Christa said as she tried to turn the ignition, only to be rewarded with a pitiful sputter for her effort.
“Pop the hood,” Abner said as he opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, deciding to just take a look for himself.
“Why did we stop?” Hiro asked, happily leaping from the bed of the truck.
“Don’t know,” Abner said as he lifted the hood, and Hiro was quick to join him in surveying the engine compartment. “Just gave out.”
“Convenient timing,” Hiro lamented as he looked it over, wondering where to start on the repair job.
“I don’t think I’ve ever fixed a truck without a beer in one hand,” Abner dryly commented, and Hiro gave an immediate, yet sad, nod of understanding.
“We walk from here,” Okor made the executive decision as all the other passengers were exiting the stationary vehicle. The building was in sight after all, and it was a good idea to get out of the open.
There was a howl of some sort in the area. It was close, but unseen. Abner shot a wistful glance at the truck, not wanting to immediately abandon their transportation. Hopefully they could come back to a quick fix, or at least steal another one. A second howl stirred them into motion.
They hadn’t taken two collective steps with everything went south. Ghoulish zombies poured from the alleyways around them en masse, moving as fast as their rotting legs would allow. They were immediately met by gunfire from those armed with long range weaponry, but the numbers were overwhelming.
“Towards the building!” Colonel’s voice roared above the mayhem. “Go!”
“I’ll take point!” Deadpool cheerily volunteered as he lopped the head off of the nearest zombie to him and made a run towards the building. “I can’t put this post in the fortnight, anyway!”
Abner shook his head in confusion, but at the same time, he’d already learned to dismiss a lot of the man in red’s comments. He was far too occupied at the rear of the group, anyway, firing shot after shot from his rifle at the zombies that were rapidly closing the gap.
The ground rumbled, not just from the insane number of undead that filled the streets. Abner looked to his three o’clock to see a gigantic slab of rock soaring through the air in his direction. His cigarette fell from his mouth in surprise, and he dove into Christa to knock her out of the way as well. The ripped up piece of concrete impacted the side of building and burst into pebbles from the raw power of the throw.
Abner stood up and looked to the source of such a powerful attack. A gargantuan tank of a zombie was marching towards them. It looked like it had once been a normal sized individual, but its deformed muscles were bulging out of its decayed skin, making it well over twice the size of any normal individual. The beastly ghoul crouched down and ripped another piece of the road from the ground, and hurled it in their direction again.
The slab never made it to them that time, instead exploding from the air as a powerful explosion connected with it. The hulking zombie bashed its fists on the ground and charged forward, deciding to close the gap. At the same time Abner helped Christa up, noting that she was wincing in pain, due to landing on her bad wrist. He snarled in aggravation at the approaching behemoth.
“Colonel!” Abner shouted, letting his rifle fall and the sling catch it. He then pulled his shotgun out, deciding it would be more effective in the current situation. “Could use a hand with that one!”
“We’re on it,” Colonel said as he marched past Abner, already on the warpath. He snapped his beam emitter outwards, igniting his energy sword.
Abner watched as Colonel and Okor approached the charging tank zombie, but just as quickly looked back to Christa. She was gritting her teeth and fighting through the pain, so Abner figured they might as well move the hell along. He raised his shotgun and blasted a few more zombies that had tried to get between them and the others.
“Come on! We can hold out inside!” Abner said, moving through the carnage.
Gunfire echoed and blades tore through flesh as the group advanced. Abner continued to keep the path behind them somewhat clear as they neared the building, firing and pumping his shotgun as fast as he could. All he needed was to get to the building, and he could hold the line all night.
He looked back over his shoulder to see the front of the scattered group almost indoors. He racked another shell into the chamber and unleashed it into the closest zombie, hurling another corpse into the approaching crowd. Just a few more feet to go.