02-20-2017, 12:15 AM
13th Avenue had seen better days. Normally bristling with quiet life, traffic, and shining neon signs, the lane and everything that flanked it found itself struck with an oppressive darkness. Streetlights and traffic indicators were left crooked and sparking with vain efforts to be lit. The bright signs and advertisements occasionally flickered up, shedding mere moments of disparaged light before being choked into naught again. The only vehicles not deliberately parked (legally or otherwise) instead strewed themselves haphazardly on the road like discarded toys of a chaotic force- save for one.
An unmarked gray van pulled in from around the corner of 13th and Strato Road. The driver swerved around an up-ended hover car before screeching to a halt, diagonal to the road. Not a moment later, the back doors burst open to either side, a half-dozen humanoids pouring out from the rear. Each of them were garbed head-to-foot in protective black padding, reminiscent of a modern assault troop, and equipped with arm-length ranged weapons lined with glowing veins.
"Obsidian here, we're at the site," The co-pilot bleated through the dashboard radio. "We're moving in, prepared to engage."
"Gotcha, 'oud 'n' clear," replied the gravely voice, his tone made even less comprehensible through the grubby radio connection. It wasn't usually this terrible, Obsidian wondered. "Le's get this done 'fore th' Stormtroopers 'rrive."
The co-pilot twisted a dial counter-clockwise on the radio panel until the readout spelled "Ch. 8," then clicked the speaker. "Everyone ready? We're gonna find these punks, take 'em out, and get out before anyone thinks twice. Spread out and flank, corner them in the old building at the end of the street. Shoot on sight, shoot to kill."
Obsidian was met with a half-dozen affirmations from the uniformed men, before their split off into a pair of three-men teams. They each stuck fast to either edge of the sidewalk, moving between the different vehicles for cover. Obsidian and his driver remained in the van, watching closely. The silence was palpable, and terribly strange- as if the darkness had sucked out all the life and sound from this street.
They wouldn't be left wondering for long, though. One of the troops made contact, firing at the sight of a strange robot lurching out from behind a parked sedan. A flash of green lanced out and burst upon a violet metal carapace, and the digital droid lurched back in apparent pain. Several more shots followed suit, the scream of hot blasters echoing down the deathly grounds of the road. The machine absorbed every shot, scorching black smears coating its formerly polished hull. At two different points, the outer shell of the robot had been breached from concentrated fire, where it leaked a grueling black liquid as blood from an open wound.
No sooner had the thing faltered, though, than did it steel itself and recover its footing. The way the machine moved, how its limbs seemed to sway with an unnatural grace, generated a fair amount of unnerve between the squad of humanoids that had just pelted the thing. Obsidian would have none of it.
"What are you lot waiting for?" The commander barked into the radio speaker, his harsh grip threatening the integrity of the plastic shell. "Let 'im have it! Don't stop 'til there's nothing but scraps-!"
The rising cacophony of laser blasts quickly drained the clarity out of Obsidian's orders, and became the only noise traveling through the ominous street. Sparks and streaks of stray energy spattered off of the black-oozing hull of the machine, causing frequent flinching throughout the creature's movements. Despite the more intense payload, however, the offending robot seemed almost entirely unfazed by the attacks.
One of the soldiers found themselves startled by a gurgling cry behind him. He faltered in his assault to glance backward along the car he had been flattened against, to find the face of not his ally, but an identical robotic foe. A clawed arm had gashed open the soldier's jew, tearing through the protective mask like paper. Streams of disgusting dark red body liquids dripped all over, spattering over their armor and the asphalt. Finally finding the guts to say anything at all, the startled soldier cried out, "Rod! Damn, there's another one-!" Rod's half of the squad, now basically two men at this point, whirled about to lay into the destructive machine, but not even point-blank seemed to push it back.
As if the revelation shot new life into the first battered robot, the darkling stopped after a last stride. With only mild delay, it shoved one pair of iron claws into the rear car door of the nearby sedan, twisting its upper body to tear the door from its hinges with a sickening shred of metal. The squad's lasers now only found purchase against the fine leather siding and reinforced glass of the makeshift shield, much to their ire.
"What the hell is going on!?" Obsidian roared, sneering over the severe lack of progress present through the windshield. "How did you get sideswiped? Why are those stupid droids still standing? What is wrong with you dumb-?!"
The co-pilot never got the opportunity to finish, as the driver patted him hurriedly on the shoulder. An imposing form stomped up into the back of the van, the lights of the city behind them turning the robot into a deathly silhouette with scarlet eyes. "Fucking hell-!" Obsidian recoiled, dropping the radio and reaching for the door handle. Much to their horror, however, the corrupt machine lunged forward, a wicked hand punching right through the driver's seat and the driver himself in a single motion. Obsidian was already tumbling out of the shotgun door, on the verge of soiling himself as the witnessed the impaled Quarian caught in a soundless, choking scream.
Needless to say, the plan had gone to the gutter with a one-way ticket.
Rod spat out another glob of blood, complete with a chunk of tooth, as his vision attempted to stabilize. His murky vision met with the sight of his Klingon friend, Koh'rax, in a much more sorry state. The alien's chest was torn open, the riot vest having done woefully little to obstruct the wrath of the darkling's claws. Rod's eyes widened as he began to detail the full scale of the damage, and he suddenly felt very sick.
The gang soldier scooted back on the cold, unwelcoming pavement. At one point, the objective could not have been more clear- their little district-based "police" force was to ride in, shoot up the bastards wrecking this part of town, then leave. That should have been easy, and yet there they lay, massacred brutally. Jame looked particularly unlucky, pinned to the smoldering radiator of their service van with the sharp end of a sedan door. One of their mates had been so facially scarred than even Rod's half-elf eyes couldn't determined who the poor victim could be.
Not that the last survivor of them had the time to do it anyways, with two robots approaching him. Both were heavily scarred by the scourge of battle, entire chunks of their poison-colored armor torn away to reveal the undying machinery underneath. That liquid darkness poured from every edged and crack of their shell, dripping onto the pavement. Yet, Rod could tell it could not be oil- it seemed too viscous, too alive to be any sort of fuel, fossil or otherwise. For only a fleeting moment on death's doorstep, the soldier had to wonder what it could be...
An adamant hand latched onto Rod's shoulder, unreal strength pulling the half-elf upright. The poor victim felt so awash with shock that he could not managed any sort of retaliation, or even response. He could merely stare blankly, bloodshot eyes spread to the size of tea saucers at what he saw.
Rod's gaze turned to the darkling's hand, for despite being undamaged, it too dripped that black matter from its fingertips. He barely registered where the clawed hand was going until it gutted him, a single thrust plunging those finger into his midsection. The soldier lurched, heaving up another bit of phlegm and blood, his shattered jaw unable to properly release his cry of anguish. That darkness, he could it feel it, seeming through his worthless body like venom, numbing his life and replacing it with another.
It would not be long until he was just another one of them.
The first of the Heel Navis, battered but still very much in one piece, looked to the shop at the end of the street. With a rainbow shimmer, the saucy neon lights of a cursive sign wove themselves into being. The lights flickered and pulsing before finally coming to focus: the tell-tale header of Devil May Cry, joined aside the outline of a long-haired woman toting a pair of handguns. A guttural noise trilled from the darkling, something between a groan and a growl.
"One more..."
An unmarked gray van pulled in from around the corner of 13th and Strato Road. The driver swerved around an up-ended hover car before screeching to a halt, diagonal to the road. Not a moment later, the back doors burst open to either side, a half-dozen humanoids pouring out from the rear. Each of them were garbed head-to-foot in protective black padding, reminiscent of a modern assault troop, and equipped with arm-length ranged weapons lined with glowing veins.
"Obsidian here, we're at the site," The co-pilot bleated through the dashboard radio. "We're moving in, prepared to engage."
"Gotcha, 'oud 'n' clear," replied the gravely voice, his tone made even less comprehensible through the grubby radio connection. It wasn't usually this terrible, Obsidian wondered. "Le's get this done 'fore th' Stormtroopers 'rrive."
The co-pilot twisted a dial counter-clockwise on the radio panel until the readout spelled "Ch. 8," then clicked the speaker. "Everyone ready? We're gonna find these punks, take 'em out, and get out before anyone thinks twice. Spread out and flank, corner them in the old building at the end of the street. Shoot on sight, shoot to kill."
Obsidian was met with a half-dozen affirmations from the uniformed men, before their split off into a pair of three-men teams. They each stuck fast to either edge of the sidewalk, moving between the different vehicles for cover. Obsidian and his driver remained in the van, watching closely. The silence was palpable, and terribly strange- as if the darkness had sucked out all the life and sound from this street.
They wouldn't be left wondering for long, though. One of the troops made contact, firing at the sight of a strange robot lurching out from behind a parked sedan. A flash of green lanced out and burst upon a violet metal carapace, and the digital droid lurched back in apparent pain. Several more shots followed suit, the scream of hot blasters echoing down the deathly grounds of the road. The machine absorbed every shot, scorching black smears coating its formerly polished hull. At two different points, the outer shell of the robot had been breached from concentrated fire, where it leaked a grueling black liquid as blood from an open wound.
No sooner had the thing faltered, though, than did it steel itself and recover its footing. The way the machine moved, how its limbs seemed to sway with an unnatural grace, generated a fair amount of unnerve between the squad of humanoids that had just pelted the thing. Obsidian would have none of it.
"What are you lot waiting for?" The commander barked into the radio speaker, his harsh grip threatening the integrity of the plastic shell. "Let 'im have it! Don't stop 'til there's nothing but scraps-!"
The rising cacophony of laser blasts quickly drained the clarity out of Obsidian's orders, and became the only noise traveling through the ominous street. Sparks and streaks of stray energy spattered off of the black-oozing hull of the machine, causing frequent flinching throughout the creature's movements. Despite the more intense payload, however, the offending robot seemed almost entirely unfazed by the attacks.
One of the soldiers found themselves startled by a gurgling cry behind him. He faltered in his assault to glance backward along the car he had been flattened against, to find the face of not his ally, but an identical robotic foe. A clawed arm had gashed open the soldier's jew, tearing through the protective mask like paper. Streams of disgusting dark red body liquids dripped all over, spattering over their armor and the asphalt. Finally finding the guts to say anything at all, the startled soldier cried out, "Rod! Damn, there's another one-!" Rod's half of the squad, now basically two men at this point, whirled about to lay into the destructive machine, but not even point-blank seemed to push it back.
As if the revelation shot new life into the first battered robot, the darkling stopped after a last stride. With only mild delay, it shoved one pair of iron claws into the rear car door of the nearby sedan, twisting its upper body to tear the door from its hinges with a sickening shred of metal. The squad's lasers now only found purchase against the fine leather siding and reinforced glass of the makeshift shield, much to their ire.
"What the hell is going on!?" Obsidian roared, sneering over the severe lack of progress present through the windshield. "How did you get sideswiped? Why are those stupid droids still standing? What is wrong with you dumb-?!"
The co-pilot never got the opportunity to finish, as the driver patted him hurriedly on the shoulder. An imposing form stomped up into the back of the van, the lights of the city behind them turning the robot into a deathly silhouette with scarlet eyes. "Fucking hell-!" Obsidian recoiled, dropping the radio and reaching for the door handle. Much to their horror, however, the corrupt machine lunged forward, a wicked hand punching right through the driver's seat and the driver himself in a single motion. Obsidian was already tumbling out of the shotgun door, on the verge of soiling himself as the witnessed the impaled Quarian caught in a soundless, choking scream.
Needless to say, the plan had gone to the gutter with a one-way ticket.
Rod spat out another glob of blood, complete with a chunk of tooth, as his vision attempted to stabilize. His murky vision met with the sight of his Klingon friend, Koh'rax, in a much more sorry state. The alien's chest was torn open, the riot vest having done woefully little to obstruct the wrath of the darkling's claws. Rod's eyes widened as he began to detail the full scale of the damage, and he suddenly felt very sick.
The gang soldier scooted back on the cold, unwelcoming pavement. At one point, the objective could not have been more clear- their little district-based "police" force was to ride in, shoot up the bastards wrecking this part of town, then leave. That should have been easy, and yet there they lay, massacred brutally. Jame looked particularly unlucky, pinned to the smoldering radiator of their service van with the sharp end of a sedan door. One of their mates had been so facially scarred than even Rod's half-elf eyes couldn't determined who the poor victim could be.
Not that the last survivor of them had the time to do it anyways, with two robots approaching him. Both were heavily scarred by the scourge of battle, entire chunks of their poison-colored armor torn away to reveal the undying machinery underneath. That liquid darkness poured from every edged and crack of their shell, dripping onto the pavement. Yet, Rod could tell it could not be oil- it seemed too viscous, too alive to be any sort of fuel, fossil or otherwise. For only a fleeting moment on death's doorstep, the soldier had to wonder what it could be...
An adamant hand latched onto Rod's shoulder, unreal strength pulling the half-elf upright. The poor victim felt so awash with shock that he could not managed any sort of retaliation, or even response. He could merely stare blankly, bloodshot eyes spread to the size of tea saucers at what he saw.
Rod's gaze turned to the darkling's hand, for despite being undamaged, it too dripped that black matter from its fingertips. He barely registered where the clawed hand was going until it gutted him, a single thrust plunging those finger into his midsection. The soldier lurched, heaving up another bit of phlegm and blood, his shattered jaw unable to properly release his cry of anguish. That darkness, he could it feel it, seeming through his worthless body like venom, numbing his life and replacing it with another.
It would not be long until he was just another one of them.
The first of the Heel Navis, battered but still very much in one piece, looked to the shop at the end of the street. With a rainbow shimmer, the saucy neon lights of a cursive sign wove themselves into being. The lights flickered and pulsing before finally coming to focus: the tell-tale header of Devil May Cry, joined aside the outline of a long-haired woman toting a pair of handguns. A guttural noise trilled from the darkling, something between a groan and a growl.
"One more..."