06-22-2017, 10:44 AM
The sun dipped below the horizon, taking all traces of the day sky with it. Stars flickered in the darkness above. The luminescence of the crescent moon above gifted the city bright, silver light. It was enough to illuminate the office complex that served as the bunker for Zone C. Clarke looked up, the cyan tri-lights of his helmet piercing the shrouds of mist settling on the streets and reflecting off of the windows of the bunker.
Even in the darkness, Isaac could tell just how gigantic the building was. It towered over everything else in the city, the floors ascending higher and higher until the top was nary but a dot in the sky. It made sense, considering it was the safehouse. A whitened parapet stuck out above the large, revolving door. On top of the parapet sat a series of limestone letters. The vast majority had crumbled into dust, leaving only the phrase “Vt ec C.” to be deciphered from the destructive mess. As Clarke got closer, he noticed that the area had become a lot more chaotic in appearance. Cars laid crushed up like tin cans along the sides of the road; the windows of the ground level of the office were cracked upon inspection; and, in a discovery that got his adrenaline pumping and his blood to turn cold, blood staining the entrance to the bunker. It was dry to the touch, and although he was pretty certain it had been there since before all the contestants arrived, it confirmed what he had already suspected: something happened that destroyed the city. It was just a question of what.
Nothing he had seen could deliver a clear answer. He had walked past a disabled, sparking, spider-like droid that must have shut down fairly recently, so one theory was robots took over and were now lying dormant. But he just couldn’t get those religious graffiti art-pieces out of his head. He saw them more and more, hidden away where the painters thought no one else would see them, as he had gotten closer to the bunker. He had ignored them the whole time, but their mere presence couldn’t have been coincidental.
His head throbbed. He had to stop thinking about it. Focus on the now.
He pulled out his flashlight and flicked it on. Pointing the beam of light into the building, he pushed the revolving door and stepped inside the safehouse.
He was met with the strangest group of individuals he had ever seen, and he had been to Unitology sessions. His flashlight shined on each of them, giving him some time to determine who they were.
The first person to catch his attention was some sort of clown-devil creature snoozing in an office chair behind the secretary’s counter. A singular, purplish tear had fallen down the alien’s cheek-- for what reason the thing was crying while it was sleeping, Isaac did not know. He decided not to awaken it.
He shone the flashlight over to the sound of footsteps over to his left. An extremely muscular man had taken to pacing the floor, small jolts of electricity arcing out from its body. Scars and burns riddled the man’s body, most likely due to how much electrical energy was inside of his body. Clarke flinched, instantly diverting the light beam onto someone far more approachable.
That someone turned out to be some type of police officer. With black side-burns and a beefy moustache, combined with his astonishingly toned abs and large frame, Clarke’s first thought was that he was the typical action movie protagonist he had seen dozens of times in various movies, albeit a cheesier one for a low-budget film of some sort. An extra from the remake of Die Hard, perhaps. He seemed like a normal human being, or at least compared to everyone else he had met.
“So…” he said, lowering his flashlight and giving off cautious chuckle, “interesting group we got here…” He was quiet to the point where anyone who was paying attention to him would have to strain themselves to hear him.
Even in the darkness, Isaac could tell just how gigantic the building was. It towered over everything else in the city, the floors ascending higher and higher until the top was nary but a dot in the sky. It made sense, considering it was the safehouse. A whitened parapet stuck out above the large, revolving door. On top of the parapet sat a series of limestone letters. The vast majority had crumbled into dust, leaving only the phrase “Vt ec C.” to be deciphered from the destructive mess. As Clarke got closer, he noticed that the area had become a lot more chaotic in appearance. Cars laid crushed up like tin cans along the sides of the road; the windows of the ground level of the office were cracked upon inspection; and, in a discovery that got his adrenaline pumping and his blood to turn cold, blood staining the entrance to the bunker. It was dry to the touch, and although he was pretty certain it had been there since before all the contestants arrived, it confirmed what he had already suspected: something happened that destroyed the city. It was just a question of what.
Nothing he had seen could deliver a clear answer. He had walked past a disabled, sparking, spider-like droid that must have shut down fairly recently, so one theory was robots took over and were now lying dormant. But he just couldn’t get those religious graffiti art-pieces out of his head. He saw them more and more, hidden away where the painters thought no one else would see them, as he had gotten closer to the bunker. He had ignored them the whole time, but their mere presence couldn’t have been coincidental.
His head throbbed. He had to stop thinking about it. Focus on the now.
He pulled out his flashlight and flicked it on. Pointing the beam of light into the building, he pushed the revolving door and stepped inside the safehouse.
He was met with the strangest group of individuals he had ever seen, and he had been to Unitology sessions. His flashlight shined on each of them, giving him some time to determine who they were.
The first person to catch his attention was some sort of clown-devil creature snoozing in an office chair behind the secretary’s counter. A singular, purplish tear had fallen down the alien’s cheek-- for what reason the thing was crying while it was sleeping, Isaac did not know. He decided not to awaken it.
He shone the flashlight over to the sound of footsteps over to his left. An extremely muscular man had taken to pacing the floor, small jolts of electricity arcing out from its body. Scars and burns riddled the man’s body, most likely due to how much electrical energy was inside of his body. Clarke flinched, instantly diverting the light beam onto someone far more approachable.
That someone turned out to be some type of police officer. With black side-burns and a beefy moustache, combined with his astonishingly toned abs and large frame, Clarke’s first thought was that he was the typical action movie protagonist he had seen dozens of times in various movies, albeit a cheesier one for a low-budget film of some sort. An extra from the remake of Die Hard, perhaps. He seemed like a normal human being, or at least compared to everyone else he had met.
“So…” he said, lowering his flashlight and giving off cautious chuckle, “interesting group we got here…” He was quiet to the point where anyone who was paying attention to him would have to strain themselves to hear him.
Quote:Team Space Man (Isaac) --- Still in Safehouse C, meeting up with Gamzee, Strazio, and "Mad Bull" Estes.
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