[1-3] The Nose

[Karl Jak]

Karl Jak
Red XIII (Vincent)
Cyborg
Chara
Christa (Gildarts)
Marcus Wright
Hiro Protagonist
The Vision
Judy Hopps
Okor
Ama (Fiara)
Jason Crosby (Co-pilot)
Jeff Malkovich (Flight Attendant)
Barry Sanderson (Bartender)
Amy Contreras (Flight Attendant)
--At least ~12 other random secondaries from Syntech

 
The front of the plane had fallen straight into the island below like a javelin.  With most of the fuel consumed long before its final impact, nothing heralded the final resting place of the plane other than a few smoldering trees.
 
Cyborg was one of the first to regain his bearings after what should have certainly been their deaths.  Dragging himself out from beneath the shattered remains of an oak tree, he gingerly walked toward the mass of crumpled, half-burning rubble. 
 
“She’s dead, Jim,” a calm voice spoke from behind Cyborg, who turned to see the man himself.  “You think anyone else is still alive?”  Karl Jak asked with a smile as he walked up next to Cyborg and patted him on the shoulder.  The executive waltzed forward a few paces before he realized he wasn’t being followed, so he stopped on a dime and glanced back over his shoulder.  “You coming or did a few of your bolts get jostled loose during that landing?”

Your group was in the front-ish end of the plane as it crashed.  Aside from Cyborg and Karl, you may all decide whether you wake up inside the plane or somewhere nearby to it.  You are surrounded by tall trees on all sides.  A thin fog/mist permeates the woods around you, which will only make the whole thing a little more unnerving for those of you who get unnerved.
 
It’s up to you all to decide where you go from here.  There’s no obligation to stay with the others or work together.
 
Karl and the other npcs are free to be used by whoever wants to do so.  Aside from Karl, they are all expendable and yinz can do what you want with them.  While he wasn’t overly sociable during the flight, Karl does know who everyone is (he did recruit all of you, after all).  He’ll seem calm and casual with just a dash of snark.  If you speak with him, he’ll mention that this isn’t the island you were trying to get to, and he actually has no clue where you all are, since communicators and DV-devices aren’t functioning properly.

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

Weightlessness.

The burgundy beast felt a wave of dread wash over him as he felt the aircraft begin to tip forward like an overburdened see-saw. Nanaki’s keen ears were deaf to the ensuing din of distress around him as his fellow entrants received their own personal shots of a adrenaline. The feline felt himself sliding forward off of the leather seat as the sturdy body of the aircraft groaned against the stress of the turbulent air. His eyes bulged as he was suddenly sent somersaulting across the cabin, coming to rest abruptly and painfull against the row of jump seats near what he only imagined was the pilot’s area. Thinking quickly, the grabbed hold of the shoulder harnesses, scrambling to click the buckles in place with his less-than-dextrous jaws. It was times like this that he really envied human thumbs.

CREEEEEEEEA-KUH

The fiery feline could wonder only briefly over the safety of the vessel before he was slammed with a sudden decrease in air pressure, turbulent air threatening to rip him from his hastily-fastened harness as the distant seating rows of the aircraft disappeared from view. Terror assailed his mind as he gritted his teeth hard. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was inevitably coming next.

---

“Ugh…”

“What...what happened?”

“Is everyone…”

For the second time in just a handful of hours, Nanaki found himself jarred awake by the loud words of faceless speakers. This time, however, he was not waking from a pleasant rest to the site of quaint townsfolk. It was more akin to falling asleep and entering a nightmare. All around his resting place he caught sight of chunks of smoldering wreckage, gnarled chunks of aluminum having torn through and splintered the trees and bushes of a temperate forest. He didn’t even want to think about the fate of anything or anyone they had landed on.

“Oh no…” Red heard himself mutter, looking out at his surroundings. He could find no other words.

The burgundy beast slowly got to his feet, wincing at the painful reminder that seatbelts were not meant to accommodate animals. He had evidently parted with his makeshift seating, having been presumably thrown from the jump seat upon impact. Further assessment of the area informed him that the majority of the plane’s nose say in its own personal crater some 20 yards in front of him. He thought he could just barely make out signs of movement from the crash site, though he dared not get his hopes up too high. Nanaki may have not appreciated humanity, but he definitely didn’t wish ill on them. 

Having freed himself from the thorny bramble bush that has ‘cushioned’ his fall, Red XIII limped his way toward (he assumed) the rest of the group. He licked a droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth spitting the ichor onto the forest floor. The feline dropped his nose as he got closer, sniffing for signs of leaking fuel or other telltale signs of danger. Thankfully, he could detect only very faint traces of jet fuel, most of it seemingly having been burned off in-flight. Did this mean that they had reached their destination, if not quite in the manner they had intended?

“She’s dead, Jim,” a male voice commented, emanating from behind a large chunk of aluminum debris, just out of Nanaki’s sight. 

The voice was foreign to the beast, seeming strangely calm despite their current situation. As he shuffled around the obstruction, he saw a pair of men with their backs to him, walking away from the crash site. One of the them was quite obviously the cybernetic humanoid he had met after arriving in the Omniverse, but the other he could not place. Red XIII didn’t remember the man’s confident stride nor his meticulously tailored garb from when their group was still airborne, though he hadn’t exactly made an effort to meet the other contestants. Perhaps the man was one of Syntech’s employees? The crimson canid reasoned that if this were the case, he might be able to give Red some insight on what had happened.

“Hey!” the beast barked, hopping nimbly (or as nimbly as one could with a dinged-up leg) over a downed tree. “Are you staff for this event?”

The pair stopped in their tracks and turned to face him, the shorter of the pair pausing to affix a smile on his visage. “Staff? I suppose you could say that,” he replied, presenting a smarmy grin. 

Nanaki trotted up to the man, turning his good eye toward the well-dressed gentleman. “What happened to the flight? Were we attacked?”

“I haven't the faintest idea, I’m afraid,” the man responded, giving the area a quick look around. “My robotic friend and I were just about to attempt a head count. You’re welcome to join us; come along,” he winked, turning away without waiting for a response.

[Moon]

That wasn't good. 

A bit of turbulence was nothing to worry about, but the fact that they were in the process of going down worried her a bit. Or, a lot, depending on who you asked. She had been trained for this, though. That's when the plane split in half. 

"Oh, hell...," she cursed under her breath, trying to adjust herself to a better position, but her lack of weight made that impossible. See, that was one of the disadvantages of being a rabbit. Eventually, lightness couldn't get you anywhere anymore. 

The last thing she saw was a table, ripped from its place, smashing into her, and then darkness.



Panic took hold of her mind, against all training. She'd woken up in pure freefall, way closer to the ground than was comfortable at all. How the hell had she fallen out of a plane?! The wind was howling right in her ears, so she didn't register the shrill scream that escaped her as she regained the ability to actually think. A brief glimpse of her surroundings revealed nothing to possibly stop her descent, like a parachute or anything of the sort. No way to live. So, after running through every possibility in her head, she simply waited for the impact that would end her life.

---

But it never came. Judy cracked an eyelid open, to a forested area and the smell of flames. Her leg hurt like hell, but it probably wasn't broken. 

"Hello?" she called, glancing around the area. "...anyone?" Her voice was rather strained, she'd noticed, but that was to be expected after such a fall. She'd likely been screaming hard, if she could even open her mouth. A wry smile found its way onto her face, despite the circumstances. She'd actually lived... somehow. Speaking of which, how the heck had she lived? When she looked up, there were large leaves all over the trees, some with rabbit-sized holes in them. She supposed she was going fast enough to punch through all of them. With that mystery solved, a little bit of stress lifted itself off her shoulders. Question was, where was the crash? Was she the only survivor?

The sound of what seemed to be footsteps nearby, renewed her worry. Judy drew her gun, still a bit panicked from the circumstances. That could be anything, or anyone. The Omniverse held way more savage animals than were ever created using that serum, according to her research. In all likelihood, this was one of them. She wasn't well adjusted to them yet. However, when she heard the voices of some of her fellow travelers, she relaxed a bit. Speak of the devil, it seemed some people were left.


"HEY! GUYS!" She tried to run to catch up, but a spike of pain up her left leg prevented her from moving too fast. However, the others heard her, so the three that had already began moving caught up rather quickly. 

"Ah, Judy. Glad to see you survived your little tumble," Mr. Jak said, with a small smirk on his face. Said rabbit made a mental note that "small smirk" seemed to be his default expression.

"Yeah, guess so," she muttered, giving a tired smile. "You guys need any help?" 

"Sure, we could take one more along," Karl replied, waving his little club along. And that was how things began. Would things get worse from here?

Definitely.


Judy turned to the strange, metal-covered mammal next to her. Cyborg, she believed he was called. "Is... everyone still alive?" she asked, a tinge of disbelief to her voice. They couldn't all be dead, could they?

[Hiro Protagonist]

Hiro had actually been enjoying himself for a while, tossing back drinks, pop and locking on the dance floor, and chainsmoking those delicious cigarettes of his. Wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead, he'd gone back to the bar and ordered another NagaSake Bomb, idly checking out a couple of the other patrons in the VIP club. 

Turning back around to get his drink, he was momentarly overcome with indignation as it arrived in an unconventional method; namely, flying right at his face. The hacker opened his mouth to complain, but by then it was too late. He was jolted out of the barstool, and the screams from the rest of the plane could be heard over the whine of the suddenly silent speakers.

Crashing, rumbling, and all manner of shit falling and flying around the club, Hiro staggered unsteadily towards the exit and hopefully the emergency harnesses. The bartender was cowering under a table trying his best not to vomit/cry/piss himself, and Hiro grabbed him by the collar as he lurched past. "Emergency harnes- urp- harnesses! Where?"

The guy tried to maintain his balance which was rapidly becoming an impossible task. He staggered/crawled back into the club, towards the restrooms, and Hiro followed him. There was a set of emergency seats along the wall, already half unfolded, and Hiro helped the bartender in before strapping in himself.

Then, just as he was beginning to lose consciousness, and because he really did not trust this flimsy plastic seat to save him, he punched in his emergency code on his wrist interface. The last thing he saw before he blacked out from the g-forces was the relief inducing sight of his vector shield blooming into place around himself and the bartender.

                                                                                               

-drip-
-drip-
-drip-

The cyber samurai awoke with a gasp, clutching for the blade in his fist that wasn't there. It took him a few moments to realize where he was; the flight, the accident, the fall. Not back in a dirty kitchen about to be cut to ribbons.

The dripping had confused him, until he realized that they were next to the bathrooms. Plumbing was probably fucked from the crash. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the plane's emergency lighting half functioning. There was also the small fact that directly next to him was a wall of crushed metal, debris, and other detritus; a rectangular outline visible in the scree. His shield had saved them from being crushed before it dissipated.

Unbuckling himself, ears ringing, Hiro looked over at the bartender. The man was still out cold but looked relatively unscathed. He was dressed semi-professionally, and had a nametag that read "Barry Sanderson". The guy had been slinging some mean drinks before the crash, and was therefore slightly responsible for most of the ringing in the hacker's head right about now. Plus, there were here to rescue people, right? If there was a scoreboard, Hiro figured he'd be on it first if he exited with the bartender. Plus, y'know, basic human decency.

It had been no small effort to unbuckle the man and fireman's carry him through the wreckage of the plane, especially once the walls started turning into the floor and vice verse. Also because Hiro paused to grab a couple miraculously unbroken bottles of the top shelf stuff. Might be useful for signal fires.

He eventually made it to an emergency pressure door half ajar, and pushed through with Barry on his shoulder, outside into the landscape. And what a fucking landscape. Metal wreckage, some of it still on fire, was scattered around the crash site. Hiro didn't see anyone in the immediate vicinity, so he pulled his unconscious cargo put away from the metal to a clearing about thirty feet away. Then, the adrenaline that was fueling his eefforts finally failed him, and he collapsed on his ass.

Muscles twitching, he rested a few moments before pulling out his half crushed cigarettes. Most of them were still good, but he'd gone through half a pack in the bar. Lighting one up, he took a deep inhale and blew teal smoke into the air. Staring at the misty treeline, the wreckage, and his new friend Barry, he couldn't help but chuckle nervously. "Heh...heheheh....me and Barry, in the woods." 

He planted the two bottles of liquor on the ground and continued smoking. His goggles were offline, and it took a few minutes of work to get them back in working order. Once he did though, they would be able to radio for help. The hacker flipped through a few commands and triumphantly turned on his communications.

ERROR: DATAVERSE CONNECTION OUT OF RANGE
ERROR: COMMUNICATIONS OUT OF RANGE
ERROR: EPD EMERGENCY COMLINK OUT OF RANGE

"......fuck."

[Marisa Kirisame]

As Chara woke up she felt a splitting headache and she started to scream for a while as the pain was unbearable in this wreckage of what used to be a plain. after what seemed to be forever she finally got the rubble off of her and looked for Guilmon "Where is he, Oh no we must have gotten separated! I have to find him, my one friend here in the Omniverse".
she then tried to get the others on there feet, after her ordeal to wake everyone up and get them on there feet she then looked through the wreckage to see if there was anything she could salvage from there. "Lets see here at what we got as she went into the pilots cabin to see if anything was not broken and she saw that like the rest of the front of the plain it was trashed "A shame that it wasn't trashed". she told herself and after grabing anything of use she then ran up to the group with Karl in it and said "Can I join you guys/gals if that is ok"? then she waited for a responce

[Amaterasu]

The silence between Saber and Fiara was broken by the sudden turbulence. How good that the both of them had buckled up in their seats. Fiara looked at one of the Syntech employees hanging on to a chair so as not to roll down the corridor, then with wide eyes looked out the window. "What...? Don't tell me we're-"

Her monologue was interrupted by the creaking of metal being twisted, followed by screws literally shooting out of the walls and floor and bouncing off. She quickly covered her face with her arms to prevent the projectiles from hitting her, but also obscuring her own vision in the process. When she looked back up, she only got one brief look at Saber before her chair was ripped out of the floor by the enormous forces. With her still buckled into it she was sent flying downwards - that is to say, towards the front of the plane. "SABER!" she screamed, reaching out as if that meek gesture could oppose the unbelievable forces that were at work here, before her head hit one of the walls and knocked her out cleanly. In retrospect, one could say that this was what saved her, because being knocked out meant that she couldn't undo her belt. Her chair got stuck between two walls as the plane split in half and she was sent dropping down towards the island.

---

How it was that Fiara survived the crash - no, not just survived, but made it out with nothing more than a handful of negligible scratches - bordered a miracle. She woke up in darkness, barely able to breathe in the air around her that held more smoke than oxygen, and found that only centimeters away from her face was a wall of impenetrable steel, the remains of the plane. She was also still buckled into her seat... all this combined caused a claustrophobia attack inside her. She thrashed around, screaming and yelling, unable to grasp a clear thought. Someone heard her, ran over and heaved the metal plates out of the way to come to her aid. "Relax! Easy! Calm down there, I got you! I got you!" the voice yelled past the metal. It was a female, but Fiara didn't recognize her. She could see light shining through from behind her as the metal was lifted and forced herself to calm down. With a sharp edge she cut open the belt that held her strapped to the seat and slipped out as soon as she could, then helped her savior with moving the metal until she could escape. Coughing, shuddering and suffering the aftereffects of her panic attack, the planecrash, the head-splitting headache where she had been hit, the lack of oxygen to her head and the sudden light flooding her vision all combined, she could only see blurs and barely held herself on her feet. However the Syntech employee that had helped her took her into her arms and held her until Fiara could recover. "You okay there?"

"No", responded Fiara after a bit. "But I don't think anyone is at this point. I'll live though... thanks. I owe you." She looked around them, ignoring the rest of the group for now. "Are we on the island?"

"No... the flight would have taken longer than this. We're stranded."

"Awesome", mumbled the girl under her breath, now feeling better, and looked herself over, then the employee. They were covered in dirt and ash, their clothes had rips and were singed, but they were in surprisingly good condition. With a bath, new clothes and a bit of time for the body to recover, they would be good as new. She looked for the best route out of the planewreck - best leave it before it explodes or something - and tugged the employee along by her hand. Not that she needed to, the woman followed her after a brief hesitation.

Fiara caught sight of Karl Jak, talking to one of the other contestants. Others were escaping the planewreck or joining up with the group from other sides. None of them were particularly injured, Karl seemed... cheerful, even. Was he not worried that they were stranded on some unknown island in the midst of nowhere and not even near the stranded group that they'd gone out to rescue? Not worried that they were now stranded themselves? And why were they all in such good condition? Sure there were some corpses, but from what FIara could see they were all Syntech employees. The contestants that she'd seen so far were barely scratched.

Something was amiss here. Fiara knew next to nothing of Dante's Abyss, but from the few bits of info she'd caught, last year had been a massive game show of sorts. Recorded and broadcasted. Could it be that... no. It was no use in speculating away now. It might have just been a miracle, they all had gotten very lucky. She had to find Saber again... she might be here among the wreckage, or elsewhere on the island? The plane had split in half, she remembered that much before having been knocked out. Saber must have been on the other half, if she wasn't here. But she wouldn't be dead, Fiara knew it deep within. She was too tough to die in a planecrash like this. Just like herself. "A phoenix rises from its ashes", her parent had told her time and time again. Around her, the fiery wreckage. She should have been incinerated, but she wasn't. Had she perhaps died, and risen from her ashes anew?

"On second thought... go join the rest of the group", Fiara told the employee. Saber's image passed through her head. Saber wasn't a coward: she would not have fled the scene. She would have done the right thing and helped. And Fiara was no coward either. So she walked onto a strip of scorched, but bare ground where she did not have to climb through wreckage pieces, and kept her eyes out for limbs, bodies, and her ears open for cries for help. She wasn't a hero, really. But she could help out a bit.

If anyone wants Fiara to help them out of the wreck, feel free to play her for a bit. If you want to do more, poke me and we can discuss more.

Also, in case anyone missed it in the Flight posts: Saber = Arturia.

[Damien Darhk]

Cyborg couldn't help but stare at indifferent attitude of Karl Jak. His sly smile played on his lips as he looked around at the others who had survived the crash. Did he plan for this to happen? He would have to question the man later, right now they needed to get away from the burning plane, in case it were to explode. 

"Mr. Jak I would advise moving away from the plane,  although most of the jet fuel should have been burned off from the impact there's still a chance it might explode" Cyborg said, looking around at the others who had joined their company. Karl Jak clapped his hands together, beaming from ear to ear.

"Splendid idea! Lead the way" he said gesturing off in the distance.  Cyborg nodded and began to head for a pathway that they had "conveniently" crashed near. He turned for a moment to see the group following. A talking rabbit, a brining rich man, a psychopath he had put behind bars, and a couple of other behind them. 

Great, he thought I've got the best survival group sarcasm dripping at each word played in his head. If one thing was certain, they would all get off this island....somehow...

[The Vision]

The Vision, sensing the plane was crashing, did what he did while he worked with the Avengers. He phased through his seat, and prepared to lift the plane from below to slow the impact. Unfortunately, for some reason, his ability to fly had been compromised. As a result, he started falling at a slower rate than the plane. The chatter of Skynet buzzing in his head, the Vision watched the plane below bisect. The two halves of the plane plummeted, meteors trailing screams of terror. To his dismay, the Vision was clearly joining them.

***

> reboot

The Vision stood up, sand streaming from various crevices within his exoskeleton.

> scan environment
Error :: scanners damaged

Vision frowned. He looked up and saw a group of survivors.

“Query: is everyone alright?”

Okay I'm sorry I'm mad busy right now but I'm definitely still in! sorry!

[Okor]

Diseased breath rattled through leprous lungs as Okor awoke, seeing naught but darkness, an odd sensation given the arcane mechanisms of his wargear. It always went wrong, didn’t it? Chitinous shoulders shifted, debris and the corpses of the casualties sliding to the side as his titanic strength exercised itself, the meter-long tube impaling his torso tearing apart his seat, unable to keep Nurgle’s Chosen down. Tainted talons embedded themselves in the rubble, dragging the decrepit bulk of the Champion from the impromptu grave.

Small fires burnt in the ruined fuselage, tattered wires short-circuiting as shattered steel severed their structure. Bloodied, broken limbs protruded from the devastation, the crew of the vessel unfortunately not sharing Okor’s unholy resilience. The stench of burning jet fuel and charred flesh filled the air, fumes far less noxious than those which already infused his respiratory system, permeating the atmosphere.

What in the infinite hells of the warp possessed Jak and his cronies to fabricate a craft so fragile? He’d see Thunderhawks take off after crashes like this, their armoured hulls repainted with the blood of whatever unfortunates happened to be beneath them at the time. Liquor dripped down from fragmented bottles, sparkling champagne mingling with the crimson flowing from shattered bodies.

An arm, twisted and bent by the ravages of the crash, protruded from a dislodged countertop, the all-too-familiar sound of agony and fear issuing forth from the rubble.

How easy it would be to crush their throat, wringing the life from them with a single hand, watching their pathetic existence slip away into the welcoming embrace of the Grandfather. To fill their mortal soul with Nurgle’s gifts, and deliver them to the plagued paradise of the Garden, to sate the eternal thirst for slaughter burning within his soul.

To break his oaths, to toss aside the pledge he made to his Master like a spent bolt casing.

The Legionnaire reached down, diseased digits prying the pink granite slab from the survivor, allowing it to shatter against the opposite wall, shards of iridescent igneous rock falling to the floor. A voice weathered by the atrocities and agonies of millennia spoke. ”Can you… Stand?”

He barely finished speaking before the survivor scurried off, saline solution building in the corners of reddened eyes, nearly stumbling over the wreckage as they disappeared through a gaping hole in the chassis, clutching their broken limb.

Okor followed not far after, cresting the breach as he looked out at the clearing. Splintered trees lined the impact site, the few trunks that remained standing embedded with shrapnel from the crash. Primes and secondaries milled about, tending to wounds, shuddering in terror, or, in the case of primes, simply failing to care. It was Chaos, but without the singularity of purpose that Okor strived for, without the blessing of the Gods. This was mere confusion.

He pulled the pistol mag-locked to his thigh free, thin trickles of pale blood seeping from the pipe buried within his chest. A single round was fired, soaring into the sky before igniting, an unfortunate pelican combusting as it entered its path. For the briefest of moments, the assemblage paused, looking towards the gangrenous giant atop the ruins of the craft.

There was a brief snarl as his helmet adjusted, initiating the vox-caster within.

A claw coated in contagion jabbed itself at the servitor abandoning the scene, the stench of Omni’s corruption in him as rank as it was within Okor’s own self.

”Where do you think you’re running to, Prime? He sneered, the words dripping with contempt and bile.

The half-man stared at him, a crimson lens a near mirror to his own infested Oculus. Their words were devoid of the monotone drone he had come to expect from the lobotomized cyborgs of his own world. “This area’s unsafe, we need to evacuate before it-”

”I don’t know about… you, Half-a-man, but I swore an oath to save lives.” An armoured fist slammed into his semi-organic breastplate, shaking the spear piercing his second heart. ”And I dare say us immortals can risk immolation to pry these… unfortunates from their fate. You can either run, and live forever in shame, or you can… leverage the curses Omni laid upon you to do something worth dying for.”

He laid his eye upon the survivors, holstering his alchemical armaments.

”The strong, start tearing the wreckage apart. Half of you, isolate the.. Explosives, move them into the sea, other half, search for survivors. If your… talents lie elsewhere, get the wounded to safety, tend to them if you can.”

He stood upon the wreckage, a mortal injury barely slowing him, his mammoth frame waiting to be obeyed, the pitted, scarred, and burnt warplate adorning him attesting to his millennia of warfare, the onyx sigil upon his pauldron marking him as The Dean of Security.

823 Words according to Google Docs

[Gildarts]

Hands were on her, throwing her into the seat closest to them as they continued down the isle. Her hand reached out too, but while she attempted to grasp Abner, who had been right there, there was nothing but wind. He'd been swept away. A quick turn of her head confirmed that after flinging her to safety, his feet had lost their battle with gravity and he was no more. Christa’s hands were a flurry of movement, but they just weren’t quick enough.

There was a jolt. Her head sprung forward as though it were a lion, leaping with unyielding vehemence on its prey. And... Whap! Christa’s forehead collided with the front of the retractable desk that someone had been using to sip a coke and rum. Everything went dark, and the sky went sunless, until the scent of iron pulled her from the void of her nightmares.

Before she could see, there was a tug at her stomach, and the nausea came crashing down. Heavy eyelids lifted, stomach bile swirled, and her eyes swept the scene but wouldn’t let her focus. There was a whole lot of indistinct green, before of course, she saw the oceans of red below her.

Grating her teeth, before she could fathom what had happened, her hands moved to her thigh, where pain was striking loud like thunder in her ears, but with the violent force of lightning. Streaks of crimson blood could be caught in the corners of her eyes, which sparkled with the hazy contour of stars. “Tch,” she heard her lungs force out, while her breathing began to climb deep into her abdomen. Her hands wrapped around the uppermost of her thigh, and she identified shrapnel’s jagged shape with her fingertips. With a weak whimper, she murmured, while looking for his face, “Hello? Abner?” before she settled, for a much more familiar taste on her tongue, “Fuck.”

After a few more blinks, the flurry of color settled into stern shapes of trees, a slanted ground below her, and her own abdomen, buckled to her seat, which was just there, in the middle of the tropical woods. Below the belt, both sides of her legs were stained with blood, the better part, perhaps, was that she didn’t know if all of it was hers. Her thigh had swelled, but from feeling it, Christa determined the fragment wasn’t in deep. Her eyes shifted around while her hands released the buckle. With the flick of her knife, and the tie of a single knot, she isolated the wound.

Next, she tried to summon gauze, and something to sterilize her wound. But the shit didn’t come. No matter how much effort she put into thinking something to life, no white orb of light appeared at the palm of her hand. “Fuck.”

Before giving up, she saw the shimmer of broken glass. And by craning her neck, she identified a single bottle, less than an ounce, of white alcohol. Perhaps someone had been stirring their drink before... With a shake of her head, she set her eyes on the bottle, randomly laying on the forest floor, just ten feet away. For someone who couldn’t walk, it could’ve been a hundred. Tooth, claw, and a little tenacity took the Prime there, she had raised the thigh with the shrapnel so that it wouldn’t drag against the ground at all, then, she began to use her arms to heave her body forward. Her elbows dug into the soil below her, and uprooted a lively smell of green, that helped distract her from the pain shooting through her with every not-so-gentle yank bringing her body forward. Blue eyes set on her prize, now less than a foot away, she reached for it, and grasped the tiny cold bottle in her hand. Without hesitation, she twisted it open and then drizzled a few stinging drops on the wound. Next came her shirt and jacket, she didn’t know how clean they were, but it’d have to do.

One... Two... “GRRR-” Before reaching three, her hands yanked out the metal, and was met with an outpouring of blood. Had Christa not endured torture, she was sure she’d have passed out from the pain, but now, there wasn’t much left that the sniper couldn’t take. Pools of blood poured from the gash, and she met them by cleaning out the wound with the last drops in her bottle, then she met the injury with force. “Shit.” She saw the state of her leg, and looked around helplessly at the edges of the emerald leaves, which filled every part of her vision. What had she said last to Abner? ”Airplane mode be damned?” Gloat all you want, I just hope I’ll see you again. Then it daunted on her, delivering more terror than the agony in her leg and the current state of her helpless situation. If Christa couldn’t use Omnillium here, there was a chance, that if Abner had died, what if he didn’t come back?

There were worse things than being lost, worse things than digging a piece of metal out of your leg, and worse things still, than losing your sister and your friend. Not by much, surely, but in the many years Christa had lived, she’d found that life was a tangle of good and bad news. Her blue eyes fell down on her immobilized leg and then drew upward on the empty forest, full of eerie birdsong. This was, obviously, bad news.

[Marcus Wright]

"Ding.. Dong" rang the jet plane seatbelt sign. The  pilot had set the sign on to remind the passengers that there was sudden turbulence. But Marcus was busy observing out a window at the trees.  The man's irritating thoughts kept repeating on his mind. It could drive a man crazy if he listened to the "little voices inside your head"  too long.
That's when Marcus, a terminator that could pass as  a man realized he should've followed  directions when they described a plastic guide stuck within the velvet pockets of the jet.  Marcus replied "Nobody reads that crap" hours earlier.

 A loud "KATHUNK" occurred  as the  plane had hit a flock of birds. A clump came out of the engine cowlings. But nobody laughed when the pilot proceeded the radio, solemn and assuring the passengers to hang onto their hats.

The jetliner reeled back  and sent Marcus tumbling toward the cockpit. Oxygen masks fell in the seat areas but many folks were too busy screaming to care. He could grab onto metal parts attaching the chair to the floor and grasped it.  But the interesting part came when a wretch came flying toward the man's face. Who would pack a wretch in a place as this? Nobody would ever know..  

Before anybody knew it, the jet  broke into two sections, and the back of the plane  that was there moments ago disappeared. The nose stayed noticeable all around for a second and then started to tip like someone throwing lightning at the ground.  At first glance, there was no survivors.

The plane slowed down when the fuel reserves ran dry. But the pitfalls that awaited the supposed survivors were  expected.   Jet fuel and sparks didn't mix.
The Infiltrator terminator felt a sense of pain washing over him. A lump formed on the skin where the wrench hit Marcus's hard head. Without the right tools, machine related wounds would be a challenge to fix, but he had to make do. The wrench that hit him ended up in his coat.
Marcus pushed himself to climb over various obstacles  on board. The man remembered a old friend named Kyle Reese. A old quote  he once said "That's the difference between machines and men, we bury our dead."
A cruel reminder that he hoped that would never pass for him.  He took a corpse and lifted it on his body as he had to question his own mortality.
Overwhelming support between the survivors  grew. But others wanted to pave their own paths.

 426 Words/ Word count

[Gildarts]

After taking a few gulps of air, Christa leaned her head back on the nearest tree, which yes, took some struggle to get there. More or less it was comfortable. The bark scraped her skin, but she didn’t care. One hand of hers, held the fabric, which she’d fastened on her leg almost better than a doctor could have. The other hand had stowed the knife, and pulled out her Beretta. She felt safer, less nude, with one bullet cocked in the chamber.

Shadows dwelled in the forest, and swelled in her mind. Christa heard a stirring among the bushes. “Hello?” her ears perked, “Is someone there?” There was no answer, and Christa straightened the pistol in her hand. If it wasn’t human, she got the sense that it was some kind of... Creature. A rumbling growl confirmed the assumption that she’d jumped to, and she would’ve held her ground, had the woman not see the trees shake leaves, coconuts, and unripe bananas from above. A coconut slowly rolled over to her and lightly tapped her leg. The sniper drank in the tropical air and felt her lungs constrict with fear. Whatever it was, it towered over her, with a height she couldn’t even scale against the trees.

The distinct sound of unearthly sniffing could be heard over the blood rushing in her ears. It snorted and dust and soil clouded the air, cloaking all she could assume about it, save its direction. There was a disgusting gurgling coming from the bushes directly in front of he, it crawled closer, snapping twigs and breaking limbs, as though fueled by the promise of blood, it lunged forward.

There was a roar, so brutal, so carnivorous, it chilled her blood. A surge of terror was perpetuated by a need to caterwaul in correspondence with her complete trepidation. The haunted shadows of the forest swirled around her and infinite dread lurked too close to her near-bursting heart. It was getting closer, following the trail of her blood.

Before she could train her eyes on it, she listened with her ears, angled her gun, and pulled the trigger six times. It sounded like a cannon, and reverberated over the island before it could be drowned out by wind and waves. BANG! The final shot rang and was followed by the drums that had started in her ears. Now, it was life or death, for she knew she had missed it, and now, it steamrolled into trees, as though angry. The wood crackled underneath its force and filled her ears with a sound resembling a whip. The fear in her gut told her to run, and though her wounded leg protested, Christa's heels dug into the ground and propelled her forward, each step struck her with a loathsome wince.


Air cascaded in her lungs, a residual burn blazed in every muscle that could still move, and her hair flew behind her like a mane on a mare. She left the sound of snapping trees behind her and felt the strain on her leg overwhelm her, but she kept running. There was no way to fight a monster like that... Until her mind caught on the idea of tossing a grenade, but she wondered if the creature even had a fixed shape to attack. It was worth a try, and she would rather die fighting than running. Suddenly, she turned. In one hand she held her pistol, the other, grasped the explosive with her thumb through the pin of the most explosive grenade she had. As soon as it got close enough...

There was a crack and a stirring in the bushes that her eyes had fixed on. She gulped, raised the grenade in her hand, and convinced herself that she was ready to die for her cause, but doubt prickled in her mind, for the rustling sound approaching was much smaller than what had chased her. A red, cat-like creature strode into her line of sight, and walked right into the aim of her pistol. He froze and his expression was full of shock. Christa’s index twitched on the trigger, for out of fright, she had nearly fired the bullet straight into Red’s head. Following him, was a Syntech employee she vaguely recognized from the flight.

Her blue eyes were still full of fear, it seemed less and less possible that this red creature was what had chased her, that he was what had wanted to feast on her flesh and crunch her bones as mere slivers. The terror shown bright on her perspiring skin, but she gave Red XIII the benefit of the doubt. “Who are you?” she demanded to the both of them, mind, still at gunpoint. Her voice wavered, shrill from mind-encompassing horror, “Did you... See where it went?”

Red and the employee exchanged exasperated glances, noting both the gun in her hand, and the blood that dripped down the injured-woman's leg. There was a stillness in the air and Red finally asked, "See what?"

[The Vision]

The Vision gazed at the diseased man he had seen in the facility prior to the flight. He was now executing commands over the survivors of the crash. Fascinating.

> access files://prime/Okor
> hostile?() Okor
#False
> _trust?() Okor
12.401%
> vitals()
Scanning…
2034 life forms detected

The Vision scowled as the surrounding survivors began to shuffle around, making efforts to rescue those who were still trapped in the wreckage. Vision’s programming pulled his attention towards the survivors, but the Vision argued it was more important to scan potential threats.

> define undead_vitals() var
humanoid?(var)==#True:
return vitals()
> undead_vitals() Okor
Scanning…
0 life forms detected.

The Vision repeated the process, trying to find any evidence of the soldier’s humanity. At best, the Vision was able to detect that Okor was a biological anomaly. He was unlike anything in the Vision’s database which, given all of his adventures with the Avengers both subterranean and extraterrestrial, was quite extensive.

At that point, the Vision heard groans, that of metal and of man, and his programming executed an override. The Vision turned his head to scan the source of the noise.

Marcus Wright was struggling against some piece of the aircraft. Marcus Wright, the possible source of the Skynet contagi0010111111

011101111SKY010111

The Vision shoo00000kkk00

SKYNNNNNNN3tlwayswwww11001ns
rresitance#sdf#:: futttttttile

Wwwwwith a shake of his head, the Vision mmmmanaged to shake off SSssksksskynet from his programming. Despite the fact that the Vision had managed to make the program dormant, it had somehow turned itself on again. This was was wawawawawes was a concern.

He accessed his programming again, this time trying to purge all foreign pieces of code, even some files which seemed native. As he did so, he heard his own voice screaming in pain. However, nobody else seemed to hear this voice. After tracking the sound, the Vision realized that the voice was from a corrupted audio file, titled tearingmeapart.mp3.

> delete tearingmeapart.mp3
deleted

This should hold off Skynet for the meantime. Meanwhile, Marcus Wright was still struggling against the formidable shard of metal. Someone was whimpering underneath it.

The Vision smiled and walked casually over to Marcus, and said, “I believe I may be of some assistance, Mr. Wright.”

[Marcus Wright]

Marcus had pushed, shoved and fought his way through this mess of a plane accident and wasn’t too worried about the prospect of fire. But the screaming folks in the plane was hardly one to miss.

A loud “BANG’ of a local gun by one of the passengers had certainly caught Marcus’s attention as he could see the large 7 foot armored soldier.

He was too busy fighting off a piece of the aircraft that had fallen on another human and his voice growled as he tried to lift the heavy piece off.

“Arragh!!!”... was all he could muster.

The whimpering underneath made him push harder. A human’s willpower, a terminator’s strength combined in one man. Soon, the same man he had heard in the lobby came to help him lift the foreign material from the ground.

“Mr. Wright, this is a very heavy piece of metal, too heavy for the two of us. I believe that perhaps removing a small section of it will create an opening large enough for Ms. Contreras to escape.”

Marcus finally decided it was worth it to help out the Vision in his mission.

A red-hot beam pierced through the metal, carving out a small circle, large enough for a human to pass through. Marcus grabbed onto the metal and flung it to the side. The woman underneath, shivering, took the Terminator’s hand and left. The Vision floated back until his feet were touching the ground.

As the man eyed the Vision from the side, he nodded, “I’m strong enough to get some of this small steel up. I forgot to mention I am a advanced terminator model..”

“Name’s.. Marcus Wright.. “

He may have looked scary from first looks but don’t judge a book by a cover. He may have been a killer in his past life, but this doesn’t mean he couldn’t be a hero now.

“Vision… How much time do we have to get everyone out of here?”

A beeping noise was  heard from the Vision and he alerted Marcus “Some of the staff are badly hurt. They will perish in a matter of minutes. The structures will collapse if we do not hurry.”

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Marcus in his past wasn’t scared of death. He laid on the table at a bright light on the execution table chair as people asked him his final words. He said nothing out of guilt.

The sudden flash back didn’t help.  But he gritted his teeth and the tough guy actually swore he could see a sign of pure weakness drip down his eyes. He forgot he could still do that.

He forced himself to keep going, “WHO’S STILL THERE?!!!” “I’m MARCUS AND I’m HERE TO HELP!”

He helped the woman up and firmly thanked the Vision for the help as both of them found a way out of the burning airplane.

The survivors in the group could hear two voices: one of Marcus Wright and one of the Vision.

“HEYYYYYY!
“OVER HERE!”

Marcus was carrying a scared Syntech flight employee and set her down as she ran toward the others for safety.

The Vision was right behind Marcus Wright and both of them joined the remaining survivors.

Author's Note:

Skynet: Supercomputer in Marcus's world that became self-sufficient that took 3,000,000 human lives.

Models of Terminators:

T-800
T-600
Hunter-Killer
Mototerminator
etc...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DUR_JLeYkSk

[Marisa Kirisame]

So as Chara looked at the group finally round out she spoke out "Given that we are in great danger because of the night I sugest that we eather get water and food first or we build a shelter first because I don't know the day and night cycle but unless we get something"... a headache came on stronger than the last one she had, as Chara stumbled to the nearest tree right as she held her hand on her head and while holding her hand on the tree; she had thoughts of just killing everyone here "No, I cant kill them, I just have to keep this urge to kill for as long as possible"

she mumbled about her condition and tryed to keep her mind on survival and then thinks about Asriel and how he would not think that what she did was right, then she punched the tree and murmured "Oh god, why was I the one who was attacked by the Cult in my village".
After a few moments she turned and saw them talking to each other and they didn't even seem to care she was there but as she looked around and saw Tin-man walk to her; and felt her hand itch at the chance to attack Cyborg but she had to hold her hand just to stop it from going to her knife. She then waited for what he would say to her.

[Damien Darhk]

Cyborg watched the youth skeptically. He had over heard her strange comment about "not killing them" before she stumbled into a tree. Cyborg walked past Chara, meeting her eyes and sending a wave of distrust between the glance. She hadn't done anything to provoke the "Half-man" as the strange diseased looking man gurgled at him... At least she hadn't yet.

The one known as Okor was correct however, Cyborg felt embarrassed at his own carelessness to notice the injured crew members. With the help of Okor they began lifting large metal scraps and helping men and women alike crawl to safety. Cyborg grimaced as he spotted another open eyed dead stare looking back at him as they found yet another staff member dead. 

After searching for awhile it had seemed the last remaining survivors had been found. However the plane had been split and two and they had had a much larger group to begin with, he wondered if the others had survived the crash as well. 

"Looks like that's the last of them, shall we move on now? There doesn't seem any point on staying here" Cyborg said speaking directly to Okor. Although they hadn't known one another for very long, Cyborg found that he respected this being. He could definitely see him being a leader for one of the Titan groups in a past life.

[Hiro Protagonist]

-BANG-

A shot rang out across the trees, sending up a flock of black birds that looked suspiciously like ravens cawing and clawing across the cloudy sky. Hiro craned his neck up and stared at the rush of avian omens, before squinting through the trees back at the plane. Flames looked like they were climbing higher from the twisted wreckage of the plane, and people either stood around stock still or wandered aimlessly, or ran back and forth carrying others from the crash site. On top of a pile of scrap stood a bulky figure that Hiro was pretty sure he knew, his gun held high and pointed up. Welp, didn't take long for things to get all Lord of the Flies on the island.

At least, Hiro assumed this was their intended destination. How many deserted islands could there be in this verse? Karl Jak had built the damn thing himself, hadn't he? Speaking of Karl Jak, one of his employees was currently stirring next to him. Probably be best to get the man back to the head honcho himself....but that could wait. Barry wasn't injured aside from a bump on the head, and Hiro figured he had a pretty good shot of getting a head start in mapping this island before the rest of the Primes started tromping around. The EPD had ordered him to gather intel about the Danteverse, and a full map of one of it's landmasses probably counted towards that goal. 

The hacker got up off his butt and checked himself. Katanas and tanto were all sheathed in easily reached places, his goggles were restored to functionality (excepting communications), and he still had some jerky, energy drinks, and two bottles of top shelf liquor from the VIP bar. And one full box of cigarettes and his lighter, Omni be praised. He leaned over the prone bartender and lightly shook his shoulders.

"Barry. Hey, Barry. Wake up, man. You gotta wake up. We're gonna get eaten by a bunch of prepubescent cannibals if you don't wake up."

The man slowly opened his eyes, looking quite confused as he returned to a semblance of consciousness. "H-huh? Wha?!" 

Hiro helped him to his feet and gestured around them to the misty trees and the flaming wreck of the plane. "Hello, Barry. Well, let me outline the situation. I have a throbbing headache, thanks in no small part to your superb bartending skills and my own fear of mortality, the plane crashed onto somewhere weird, the rest of the Primes appear to be organizing what is either a tribal society based on strength or an impromptu line dance, and we should probably find some way of calling for help. Got all that?"

Barry Sanderson, Corporate Bartender, blinked and slowly nodded at the leather clad hacker-samurai. Then, a flicker of recognition appeared on his face as the man's brain tried to impose a familiar reality on the situation. "Hey, you didn't pay for your last five dri-!" Hiro gently put his palm over the man's mouth. "Shhh, shhh....let's get out of here and try to find some shelter, then we can settle up." Barry frowned, but nodded, and Hiro removed his hand. The Prime and his booze slinging companion softly headed out into the treeline, moving slowly and quietly away from the wreck of the plane.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

"You're lost, aren't you?"

"Shut up, Barry."

"No, you're completely lost. We passed that tree ten minutes ago! Look, it even has the same mushrooms growing on it!"

The hacker sighed. The Secondary was right. The trees and mists made it very hard to see, and they were probably wandering in circles. Every time Hiro thought he'd found a straight path through the trees, they had to detour around a fallen one, or a boulder, or travel another direction to avoid going into a ravine. This was getting them nowhere. But what other choice did they have?

The hacker and the bartender both continued onwards into the mists, checking over their shoulders as twigs snapped, birds cawed, and leaves rustled. Both completely out of their element.

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The gun-wielding woman did not break eye-contact, her quivering hand keeping her pistol trained on Nanaki. She was visibly shaken, coated in a mixture of sweat, dirt, and soot. By the state of her, he had to assume she had been among the lucky survivors of the crash, her seat probably having been thrown from the body shortly before impact. As a pregnant silence hung over the group, the feline finally spoke. “See what?”

Another pause, as if she had not quite understood the beast’s inquiry. She heaved uneven breaths, slowly lowering the firearm a few inches. Red’s apparent (at least somewhat) amicable approach had earned him a few degrees of freedom, though not enough to spur the woman to lower the gun entirely. “The...THING,” she uttered, gesticulating wildly into the forest with her pistol. 

“Ms. Adams, can we lower the pistol a touch, hmm?” the sumptuously dressed Syntech employee said, somewhere between a question and a command. A mischievous smirk seemed to be permanently stamped onto his face.

Red turned to look over his shoulder, mentally checking out of the conversation for a moment while the frightened gunslinger continued to express her concerns. The canid’s good left eye traced the path of torn leaves and splintered branches toward the direction the Adams girl had pointed. From between the woody boughs, the beast’s optics could spy what seemed to be a murky fog, thickening the further into the forest he looked. Sighing with frustration, he closed his eyes as he focused on his more primal senses.

“There's something out there!” the shaken girl asserted, leering at the Syntech staff. “It was chasing me, I heard it!”

“I'm not sure of what could have been chasing you, but there's definitely something strange out there,” Red commented, turning back to the group. He cast a gaze upward, nodding as his suspicions were confirmed. “There's a fog overhead,” the burgundy beast continued, “And I'm sensing something...strange from deeper in the brush.”

“Strange?” the group's leader inquired. “How do you mean?”

Nanaki stared back blankly at the man, shaking his head. “I can't explain it. The smells and sounds aren't like anything that I'm familiar with.” 

“What is it?!” the woman demanded, gun still leveled on him. Though the feline could tell that her demeanor stemmed more from fear and anxiety than anything they had done, he couldn't help the annoyance he was feeling.

“I don't know,” Red said flatly. “But you're going to need to lower that gun if you want any kind of help.” He paused for a moment, waiting as she begrudgingly lowered the firearm. “Besides, whatever it was that was after you is gone now...or at least I can no longer sense it.”

“Well, I quite enjoyed that little bout of excitement,” Mr. Syntech said, “but I should remind everyone that there are still corpses and rubble to dig through. Let's carry on.”

The newcomer gave the well-dressed gentleman a dismissive look before following the group. They made their way through the area around the crash site, each casting their gaze around and lifting the occasional chunk of debris. Nanaki relinquished his spot at the front of the pack, instead fall back near the rear as he focused his senses on the perimeter. His initial assessment of the strange presence in the distance did not sit well with him; he had seen a great many strange things in his time but it was quite a new experience to be completely unable to describe the sensations. Tiny inklings of worry sprouted in his mind as he sniffed around, hoping for any clue of what could be out there or where they could be.

“So, are we on the Island right now?” a disembodied voice asked from the front of the group.

“Not the island, no, but an island,” the Syntech staffer replied cheekily. “This is just as much of a surprise to you as it is to me.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, not exactly the smooth sailing I had expected, but we can't always have what we want, can we?”

“I guess?”

Nanaki ignored the chatter, instead focusing his hyper-sensitive ears and nose on the island. The Omniverse had brought its own unique set of limitations on his various capacities, though he had yet to fully measure just how hampered he was. Perhaps if he simply redoubled his efforts he could get a better idea of what was hiding at the edges of his range? 

“Hey,” a gruff female voice commented, jarring him from the fiery feline from his thoughts. “You really can't sense it?”

Red XIII turned to see the girl that he had just met, limping unsteadily beside him as they both followed the group. She seemed to have calmed somewhat, though worry was still stitched into her visage.

“I really can't,” he repeated, eyeing the girl suspiciously. “Adams?”

“Christa,” she said, nodding. “But you're sure there's nothing there?”

“Red XIII,” the feline replied in turn. “And yes, I can't seem to sense anything right now other than something vague and indecipherable in the distance.”

Christa frowned, obviously finding the beast's words somewhat unhelpful. She squinted in the direction she had come from, perhaps hoping to catch sight of what had remained unseen to the others.

“Wait,” Red commanded, stopped suddenly. He lowered his nose, sniffing at a dislodged chunk of airplane seating. “Something's here,” he commented, jamming his head beneath the seat. A moment later he tugged the object free, leaving it at Christa's feet. 

“Looks like some kind of bag,” she said, grabbing the black strap and holding it before her. Aside from being covered in a thin layer of dust, it seemed to be largely untouched. 

“Could have supplies or something in it,” Nanaki commented, “But for now just hang onto it. We should focus on casualties for the moment.” 

Christa nodded, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

[Gildarts]

With her sniper slung over her shoulder, they approached the beach and there was still no service on her phone. Fuck. Her eyes quickly scoured the crescent landscape, hoping to find Abner's distinctive face among the bobbing heads of the survivors. It looked like only the front of the plane had landed here, though it was hard to tell, from the mashed bits of metal that appeared to have been chomped apart by the ground.

Acrid smoke filled the air, which was brushed away by the salty, ocean breeze. They’d made it through the woods, though Christa’s eyes kept catching suspiciously on Red XIII, before her toes fell over something limp and motionless. The Prime's body quickly became rigid, for without looking down, she knew exactly what she'd stumbled upon.

Suddenly, there was a cold hand wrapped around her ankle. "Wait..." the voice said almost soundlessly, as the person's head was face-down on the hot sand, muted by the world that would no longer hear her. Immediately, the still-enraged Christa knelt to the ground, and turned the body over.  What she found was a grotesque truth, delivered to her first by the revolting smell of seared flesh and then later by the sight of crushed bone twisted below the black skin, sprouting upwards like a plant about to pierce the veil of its soil. Her charred lips were still moving, but only Omni knew what she was trying to say.

"Oh no..." Christa's own eyes began to water at the sight, she could only imagine the pain, for it told in the fading light of the ghastly woman's brown eyes. The Prime's blue gaze didn't steer from the reflecting pair of golden brown, while her hand held the dying woman's with a grip tighter than God's. Christa was unwilling to let go, and so melted was the sniper's heart that she had released the pistol in an effort to comfort the woman. Christa's eyes lingered away for a split-second, trying to determine the number of breaths the nameless woman had left, only to find the chocolate woman had been been split directly in two, and now, only her torso remained. This world was too ruthless, for now, an innocent soul would die in a sizzling pool of her own blood.

"No..."The word scratched over the sniper's throat like sandpaper. The light was leaving the dying woman's eyes now, but the tears continuously streamed, cleaning the ash off of her brown cheeks and leaving stains from the rivers, Christa's pale, bloodied thumb brushed the woman's tears away, "You, are a hero." Christa spoke sternly, persuasively as the other, no different at all from Christa, lay on the ground preparing to walk in the valley of death, "Don't think of the pain, don't you dare. Heroes don't feel pain, because they know they did everything they possibly could. You did great, and you lived and you loved, and I bet that smile of yours smile is enough to light up a whole room. That's all life is about. You were a hero. And I will remember you until my final breath."

[Karl Jak]

Round 2
Okor
Marcus Wright
The Vision
Fiara

Slowly but surely, Marcus, Fiara, and the Vision had managed to liberate most of the still-living survivors from the wreckage of the plane. As they worked, Okor barked instructions in an attempt to maximize their talents, which were plentiful. All in all, they managed to save nearly fourteen souls from the smoldering hull of the plane. In the process, they had also managed to remove anything 'suspect' and placed it all in a pile further removed from their location. Okor wanted to drop it all into the water, but they'd tried to send someone to go find the beach. When that person, a smiling waiter who spoke of a family of four and being recently debt-free, failed to return, they opted for a closer dumping point.

"That's all of it," Marcus replied as he stepped out from a gaping hole in the fuselage. "Vision isn't picking up any more lifeforms inside the wreckage."

Okor nodded as he surveyed the motley collection of survivors.

"What now?" Marcus inquired as he turned his attention to the misty forest that surrounded them.