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Anarchy
Sept 23, 2009 23:36:57 GMT -5
Post by B on Sept 23, 2009 23:36:57 GMT -5
My dark blue eyes gazed down at my hiking boots. It was raining today... Nothing too unexpected for New York. I shook my thick winter jacket, ice fell from my shoulders, but it wasn't snowing. If only I could look at myself through a mirror, a man with whitish-blue face, blond hair covered by a jacket hood, I looked like any normal hoodlum. It couldn't be helped though, in my thoughts, everything happens for a reason, just as I'm here in this city for a reason...
I paused, another gunshot followed by a few more. I shook my head and continued along the street, a family of three sitting on the sidewalk embracing each other sat in front of me. They were ragged, hungry, and scared. This was life now in New York City. Half the population formed rival gangs that fight each other and innocent citizens, some claim to be righteous, some are religious, some are groups just trying to survive, and others... Well... They just want to cause as much damage as they can. How, you ask, did this all come about? Why don't you ask the pile rubble that was once the grand Empire State building.
Three months ago... Some bastard calling himself Omega somehow planted bombs throughout the building then blew it sky high, causing death totals that went beyond the twin tower incident. Why did he do this? To establish himself as the ruler of New York City. Yeah, sounds like bullshit, I don't blame you for thinking like that, I did too when I saw the news... But it's true... The U.S. Government sent soldiers to quell the rebellion but somehow a portion would just join gangs around the city, another portion would die in the onslaught, and the rest would go home injured and confused. Eventually, instead of trying to liberate New York, they quarantined it, even the harbor. They treated disobedience as a virus and this is the result. Now with the vie for power in one city, and Omega who popped up on television calling himself a god, things are hell. I didn't know this town. I snuck in a few days ago... I still ask myself why... I have the power to stop this nonsense... Really? I'm no hero... I'm just another man waging war in this god forsaken city...
The family looked up at me cautiously. I didn't stop my movement, the father seemed to pick up his son, grab his wife's hand, and high tail it somewhere safer. I don't blame them, you can't trust anyone in these circumstances. I continued on through the rain, ready for something to happen close by, and from what I've seen, something will happen soon, something is always happening...
(( This is kind of a super hero-esque roleplay that me and Jilly had made but never gotten into. Your character can be a human or have powers be bad or good. I couldn't think of a good name and I don't remember the name that me and Jillian dubbed it a while back. ))
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Anarchy
Sept 26, 2009 4:18:58 GMT -5
Post by Turn 360 and walk away on Sept 26, 2009 4:18:58 GMT -5
Kyle walked the desecrated sidewalks of Manhattan, head down and hidden from view. His attire, a light-colored t-shirt and blue jeans, with a windbreaker tied around his waist "just in case," hid the scars that marked most his body. His blonde hair, matted and greasy, swung stiffly in front of his face. More people were out in the streets than he would have liked, but the seventeen-year-old couldn't have cared less if he tried. With vinegar-colored eyes, he looked left, right, behind him. Money was of no use any more. Only the idiots without a hope rob banks any more. He was leaning against the back wall of an upscale clothing superstore. He didn't know which, probably Abercrombie and Fitch or something, and yet again, couldn't have cared less if he tried. What he did know is that he needed an upgrade. Kyle stroked his chin a few times, noting that he was beginning to grow a very unappealing beard, and set that hand against the brick and steel wall. His body covered the hand well, but there was a distinct sound, not unlike the sound of popping oil in a hot pan, and that small. Sulfurous, and thick. he felt where his hand had melted through the wall. The acid etched fine lines into the brick, making it look like a torn scrap of paper. He began to run his hand over more areas of the wall, until there was a hole big enough that he could climb through. The inside was like a bad catalog picture. Everything was in bright solid color, with fun-designed shelves and subtly sexy mannequins dotting the floor. People had been in here before, but the swath of destruction only made a path to every register in the store. Most of the real goods were untouched. Shopping was hard; whenever he'd get excited from the breaking and entering and the gunfire outside, he'd sweat. Whenever he sweats, he sweats acidic... stuff. But it doesn't matter what it was, only that it can get him a new wardrobe. And that the last person he touched had died a slow, painful death. Which is a shame, because he'd only made it that far once. At least he'd seen her naked before it happened. That's something to take away from it. The same thing began happening to him, not long after. He'd been running from her dead body, which was laying on the roof of her apartment. He began to sweat, and the acid etched tracks and craters in him. But he quickly build some sort of immunity; the stuff just beads off of him any more.
Outside, some people were screaming a protest song, like "How many die today? Lift the quarantine, we can't stay!" or something. He didn't join, but slipped right past, hands stuffed in the pockets of his new pressed black slacks. Kyle felt good today. So long as he made sure not to ruin these clothes, he was on top of the world.
On his was to the inner city, Kyle began humming "whistle while we work".
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Frank Sinatra was playing on the radio of Nat's old ford truck. He was driving home, from a late night at work, when he first began to notice things weren't right. That morning, Christine, his wife, said that he looked pale. Nat wrote it off with a shrug. But then, it seemed to get worse. He felt more than sick. In fact, it felt like something was growing and squirming and trying to escape out of him. After vomiting, it seemed to subside. he worked his overtime without incident. But it was back, that horrible, painful, disgusting sensation was back. He pulled over, and began breathing heavier and faster, trying to regain himself. It turned into hyperventilating as he began to run a cold sweat. It felt like he was going to explode! His forehead was hotter than a stripper in hell. His hands began to shake. Felt like one hell of a flu. He leaned out the window and vomited again, but no relief this time. A few people drove by with blaring horns and profanity. He couldn't think past a migraine that seemed to black out the whole world. He was screaming, now, and he couldn't shake himself back. It felt like someone stuck his head in an over-tightened C-clamp, struck him with lightening twice, doused him in kerosene, and tossed a match.
And it was done. Nat's eyes opened heavily. His thinking was clear. He could hear, and see, and think. He could control himself. Embarrassedly, he noticed that his pants were warm and soaked. He went home to a plate of lasagna, but never talked about the fright on the freeway. The next day, he went to the doctor's office, and they immediately had him x-rayed. His head was fine. So was the rest of him. Baffled, they turned him away. He saw another doctor, to the same results. Not once today did the fit of pain flair up, though.
Nat went back to work, still expecting to find a brain tumor. But that night, the funniest thing happened; Christine ran out of the house, half-undressed and stark-raving mad, ranting about 6-foot tall spiders, which is interesting for two reasons -- He was thinking about that movie with the giant spiders, Eight-Legged Freaks, and his head hurt again, though this time not nearly as much. The same thing happened the next day, when Vick Redman in the station next to him suddenly caught Bird Flu and nearly died. Nat just saw a news story about it ( Apparently, there's an epidemic?) and started to wonder if, maybe, Vick had it. But Darlene said that he was right as a whistle that morning. There was a slight twinge of pain in the back of his brain.
Nowadays, Vick was either dead or in one of those crazy gangs. Probably dead. He was always a cowboy. The hospital Christine had been in was bombed, and so far, they hadn't said anything about survivors. Though he had ten dollars that she's out there somewhere. Nat honed his skill in the days following the Vick incident, and maybe a year before the quarantine. His truck was in the bottom of the Hudson, but he was walking along the bridge where his headache first started. In front of him, rubble that was once a world landmark glowed an angry red. All he wanted to do was get out of there. This was the third time this week that he went across the bridge to the feds, got guns pointed at him, and asked if there was any way at all he could leave, or at least get a search party in there for his wife. And it was the third time he was turned away. All he wanted to do was find Christine, get the hell out of New York, and live out his life. He could control his power now, so he could live in peace. But the city was in utter chaos. That's why he can't do anything about that. But can he really fix it with a couple Jedi mind tricks?
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Anarchy
Sept 27, 2009 23:52:20 GMT -5
Post by B on Sept 27, 2009 23:52:20 GMT -5
It wasn't until I heard a woman's scream, did my lips crease into a smile. It was time I finally made a stand. Some people would find it sad if they really knew I had my own powers foremost in my mind rather than the safety of whoever screamed, but it was the sad reality. I could hear voices now. "Is this all you've got? Come on... How am I going to feed my brothers with this, bitch?" He asked and a few other voices chuckled in return. She cried back, making pleas and trying to convince them that she had no more but they weren't going to bite. Another person's voice came up, it was another female but much younger. "Tell us, where are you hiding your food!?" They were just around the corner, they'd likely be armed I had to do this quickly. I stepped around, three men with guns, two women. They were in an alley way, it seemed someone had a make-shift home here made up of trash cans and bed sheets. It didn't take long before one of the men to notice my presence but he didn't fire, rather aimed his gun up at me. "What's this? The knight in shining armor?" I rolled my eyes at the terrible pun. "Look, leave them alone and back down from this life of torment or you'll give me no choice." I spoke straight but inside I was scared... Not of dying, but of using my power to harm them... I swore I never would turn into a weapon, but I have no choice. As I expected, the men laughed confidently. "You're not even armed." He laughed and another looked at him. "What if he is?" "Fuck, just kill him." I put my palm out and out of nowhere a shield of ice enveloped it and nearly my whole body. Shocked, the men began firing, ice flung away only to be renewed. I opened my other gloved palm, letting rain drop into it, but they would freeze before they hit, a handful of frozen splinters filled my palm. The gunshots ceased as the men reached for another clip, my ice shield vanished into vapors and I flung my fist full of ice shards at them. It acted as a shotgun, the small shards flung at impossible speeds straight into the three men, though the females were in front of them, not a single piece hit them, I was too good. One droplet might not do much damage, but when you have about 200, lets just say, the men looked like a Picasso painting as they fell dead. I let my hand drop to my side. The women looked up, shocked and confused, maybe even a little afraid of me. I refrained looking at the men I just killed, I just stared at the people I saved, trying to keep my mind on the good done rather than the sin I have just committed. The older of the two stood up, realizing I wasn't a threat to them. "Thank you... Thank you." She said, unable to wrap her mind around words. I sighed and nodded then turned away, I thought I heard the younger woman about to say something but she caught herself. I could tell they were grateful, but also scared, I decided I'll leave them alone.
I shoved my hands back into the pockets of my jacket. I had done my first deed, but what have I done really? Could killing three men really lead me closer to my goal? No...
(( Crappy!! I'm just trying to get moving a little, but our characters have to get closer. I'll make a human in a few. ))
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Anarchy
Sept 28, 2009 1:11:24 GMT -5
Post by Turn 360 and walk away on Sept 28, 2009 1:11:24 GMT -5
Kyle was not happy. He had sweat through his shirt, and that just was a bad omen. Kyle wasn't the least bit superstitious over most things, but a bad omen shouldn't ever be ignored. Of course, he didn't get breakfast, and karma ensured that he wouldn't get any tomorrow, by having a pack of thugs shake him down while he slept the night before. Fantastic. Pure awesomeness. Now he wandered through the streets, now and again passing alleys filled with guys toting big guns. Just as often, he'd run into one lined with hobos, who couldn't even come up in the world they now lived in. Pathetic. They couldn't at least break into a damn department store and sleep there? Something exploded with a dull thump ahead of him, and he started running towards it. In those comics that this new New York feels like, there's always something good at an explosion. those "bad guys". The cool ones, the ones who always had a plan. The ones who always was looking to fix the broken world they lived in. And that's where he was looking to do. Just fix this problem. Or maybe it was just a building that finally gave way. Either way, there was bound to be some corpses to look at.
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Nat was miles away from home. His car keys were stolen from him, and the white Camero he liberated from a parking lot was revving. A few of the guys were still grouped around him. Most of them were kicking him, laughing at him, spitting on him. he was curled up on a side street, watching people walk past. Most didn't even look. A few glanced over, and started walking faster. He was still crying for some help, but they were caught on ragged gasps for air. Finally one reached into his pocket and stopped kicking. he thanked God for the break, but withdrew it as soon as he looked up. A boot heel got pushed into his mouth, and he could see the glint of steel in the guy's hand. "hey, guys, check this out. There's this really cool thing in his gut I gotta show you!" "Damn, Rex, you're just gonna do this shit out here?" "No one gonna do something about it! 'Sides, they know that if they squeal, They'll be seein' us, right?" "You got dat right!" The apparent boss leaned over and took the boot from my mouth. "Scream for me, you little bitch." He brought the knife down to Nat's belly and began to saw the air right above his navel. Nat promised himself he'd never do this. He promised that to Christine, to Vick, to himself. But he took whatever concentration he could muster with the other two still kicking, and used his power. The boss-man stood there, froze, and rolled his eyes in the back of his head. "hey, you okay?" "Damn nigger!" The boss swung at one of the other thugs. "Get your ass out of this town! You too, Jew boy!" He caught the second one, "Jew Boy", with the knife and cut his face pretty good. The other one was running, rundown boot heals clicking on the pavement, to the car. "Get back here you spook!" "Boss! it's me, Mike! Mikey, remember?" "What a nigger'loving name!" nat stood up, wiped his palms on his jeans, and spit a small amount of blood onto the sidewalk. The Camero was screeching out of site, but the Boss forgot that he, too, was a nigger-lover, and started to slash at his own arms. As Nat stumbled away, his head pulsed with pain, but it was livable.
He told himself that he'd fix things. but so far, all he's done is commit three felony murders, grand theft auto at least twice, and broke more minor laws than he could count. What the fuck was he doing? Why was he picked to have this power? Obviously he couldn't use it! On the horizon, a splash of dust in the center of town rose above the low shops and houses of this older district. "Ever the hero, damn it," he scolded himself as he headed towards the cloud.
((Sorry it's short and lame, but yeah, just drawing the characters together. Make the blast what you want to. I lost track of time, and I need to go.))
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Anarchy
Sept 28, 2009 23:36:19 GMT -5
Post by B on Sept 28, 2009 23:36:19 GMT -5
To be honest, I thought the whole city would be at war constantly, I didn't expect things to be as quiet as they were now. Well... That was until I turned a corner a few gunshots broke the night, followed by more, and more until it erupted into the sounds of a war zone. An explosion shook the ground, sending dust in easy view, I was close, very close. Among the gunshots I could also hear the familiar sound of sirens, police sirens. The buildings in this area were large, but still the smoke from a flame rose above them, the explosion must've cause some critical damage. I picked myself up into a sprint. I had reached my hand into my coat and pulled out a bottle of water. If the fight was as big as I pictured, I'll need a boost.
It wasn't difficult to find the scene. On one side, a group of thugs fired with military grade weapons, I think I saw one man loading a rocket into a tube, on the other side were what seemed to be police and other armed civilians combating, I also noticed some other civilians playing pussy behind the police line. It was obvious who my targets were. I unscrewed the lid off the water bottle and began chugging the whole thing until it was completely empty. Lucky for me, it was still raining, I need perspiration and water nearby for my powers to come into effect. I concentrated on my arms, ice began forming on them and enveloping my body like armor, soon, I wouldn't even look human, just a white figure and to make it more of a picture, ice formed into a blade on one of my hands. With that, I charged...
(( Filler... We'll kick ass next post when you get into the fray. ))
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Anarchy
Sept 29, 2009 1:04:45 GMT -5
Post by Turn 360 and walk away on Sept 29, 2009 1:04:45 GMT -5
Kyle slinked in and out of the fray, winding himself back and forth in the "bad guys" like a snake. Snake. he liked that. he'll remember that. A bullet brushed passed his ear and kyle ducked again. Some of the thugs started pushing him around and asking "what the hell he was doing," and in response, He spit across the line of fire with a serpent's agility, causing one of the armed civilians to cry a bloodcurdling cream as their face, in the most literal sense, melted into a look of despair. One of the thugs pushed him aside and took aim, but instead of being pushed back, he was moved into a rank, or some sort. He felt good about that. Snake? Serpent? Those were good, too. Kyle sprinted across, still looking like a confused civilian, and broke into the side of an armored truck that was serving as the "good guys" armory. He made sure that they couldn't fight much longer, and while he was at it, shoved some people down in a flurry of sweaty, deadly palms. Why shouldn't today be a good day? Some white thing was running towards their line. it has screaming like some sort of banshee, and started cutting down the thugs. So there were more of him? The thugs started juggling the big white thing and the actual shootout, but Kyle focussed all his attention on the new-comer. "Hey, you... white thing!" He called out to the creature, and took up as good a fighting stance as TV taught him. The firefight was still gong beside Kyle, and the gun's explosions began pressing on his eardrums unpleasantly, but he continued calling out to the icy beast.
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Nat showed up at the explosion as soon as he could, but there had already been quite a few casualties on both sides. he gulped and stumbled backwards into the alley he emerged from, almost right in front of some guy in a leather jacket and RPG. Chanting some bizarre pseudo-Christian prayer like "Oh help me god, please save my ass," Nat moved away and re-entered on one side, behind police barricades. The man with the rocket fired, decimating the building he was standing by seconds before. Nat was confused. He just killed two men. And he'll have to kill more to stop this. But, in a place as death-ridden as New New York, isn't murder the blackest of all sins? He weighed the actions against each other and chose the former, causing one man on the thug's line to turn around and fire at rockets and explosives laying around. his head hurt almost as bad as the first time his headache happened, in his old truck. But though his vision blackened around the edges, and he was being dragged away by the barricade guards, he saw some big white thing working with him, trying to destroy the thugs. Just that word, "destroy," made Nat's head hurt.
"Stay on this side of the barrier, sir!" "No, i need to get back through!" "Sir, you need to stay back!" "Fine!" Nat looked hard at the officer, and Officer Henry went off to investigate something imaginary he saw down a side street, allowing Nat to slip past, again. This time choosing a more concealed spot, he began turning them against themselves, one man at a time. That's one of this endless (Nat was sure) list of limits he had, and he had learned to best deal with. he could only exert himself over one body at a time. He couldn't just get half the thugs to shoot at themselves. And the more he worked, the more his head hurt. during and after. If he worked too hard, he was sure to pass out, maybe die of a brain hemorrhage. Nat didn't feel like finding out right now. He was constrained to what the body he chose could do; he couldn't make a fat kid climb a fence. but, strangely, his moral mind was affected, and not theirs. he was constrained to what he thought was right. Which is why he nearly blacked out when he made that guy celebrate the 4th of July. his mind fought back the only way it could, with that intense, wrenching pain. All Nat wanted to do was see if the white thing was real, but for that to happen, this war had to stop, so he continued to make his small, yet important contributions.
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Post by B on Oct 2, 2009 0:35:20 GMT -5
I don't know what I was thinking, running and yelling like a raving lunatic towards squads of thugs. I can feel them begin to fire at me, each bullet bringing a slight jolt to my body and a new hole to my armor which would immediately seal up with more ice. How could I see? the ice over my eyes was thin like glass, it didn't make it easy to see, but it certainly helped, and from the outside it would look like all the rest of the ice covering me as to bring about the assumption that I have no weak point. The first thug was easy, he was caught by surprise, impaling him with the blade wasn't difficult at all. I pushed him off and spun around, decapitating another of them, not once did I think about the atrocities I was committing. Soon enough the men began yelling and informing the others of me. I just continued hacking away at the men I could see.
It wasn't until I was about to kill one of the men did I stop my rampage, he wasn't looking at me, he wasn't looking at the cops, he had his gun trained on his own allies, firing wildly. What was this? A defection? Either way, I couldn't bring myself to kill him, not since he was helping me. Desperate screams caught my ear, I looked across the street, an officer was on the floor clenching his face and removing globs of it whilst doing so. What the fuck was going on?My rampage now subsided and myself being slightly winded, my ears was able to make out feinter sounds, one was a calling, a calling for me. I was curious, was someone stupid enough to challenge me head to head? I looked at the source, it was a kid, his clothes looked tattered... I would say decayed but I think burnt or melted would be a better word (Correct it if I'm wrong!). Something clicked in my mind... Maybe he wasn't drawing me out for a fight, maybe he wanted to get to the others. I ran over quickly to where he was but when I was getting closer I could make out a fighter's stance... Really? "Really?" I said aloud. I stood straight up, maybe I wouldn't kill him like I did the others, he's too young... I wouldn't be able to look at myself... I'm not even sure I can now. My body flinched as I started taking fire again but only for a split second, the shooter either died or went off to shoot someone else... Or shooting his own teammates, they seemed to be doing that every now and then at glance. "Piss off, kid, I don't have time to play cops and robbers." Why was I letting this teenager distract me? I turned away from him towards the battle, about to charge the thugs again. They seemed to be gaining reinforcements, the thugs must really outnumber the police by great numbers. Nevertheless I readied myself, the only way this person was going to stop me was if he showed he meaned business, but what could a weaponless teenager really do?
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Anarchy
Oct 2, 2009 23:33:27 GMT -5
Post by Turn 360 and walk away on Oct 2, 2009 23:33:27 GMT -5
Kyle stood lamely for a second when the white thing turned away, until a bullet whizzing by his ear snapped him awake. Behind him was a demolished concrete structure; the steel rebar jutted out of it like spikes. He took hold of some and melted their bases away, pulling them free of the building. "hey, whitey, I, said, HEY!" Kyle jumped up and swung both steel bats at the white thing's head, dropped both steel pikes, now placid and rubbery, and began swinging his bare fists at the white thing, hoping for his acidic sweat to soften up the thing. His knuckles impacted it's armor with a dull packing sound. "Hey! Whitey! I wanna fight!" Kyle panted between his flurry of attacks.
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Nat wasn't aware he was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood until he felt the warm liquid travel down his chin. Vaguely, he noticed a small pool of it puddling under his feet. He couldn't do it any more. The killing was too much, it felt like his brain was committing suicide. Instead, he turned his attention to the civilians. He focussed what he could and moved the unarmed ones away from the street, often back to where they came from. He picked a good one, one time, and was able to get ten people away at once. That white thing was still fighting the thugs, and some teenager was screaming at it. Two more civilians. The teenager was grabbing something on a wall. Three, a mother and two infants. The teenager was attacking the white guy? Nat removed three more people from harm's way and looked back over, but the teenager and the white thing was behind a wall of thugs, and he hurt too bad to remove any of them. Instead, he's remove more civilians. Nat was still very intent on meeting with the white guy.White Guy seemed like a "good guy". maybe he could be, too?
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Post by B on Oct 5, 2009 0:17:51 GMT -5
I readied myself to charge when something came crashing down on my head, no, it felt like two. Even with the ice there I could still feel the impact and it hurt somewhat. I shook my head and turned, two clanking noises and I noticed the two bars roll on the ground, the teenager from a few seconds ago charged me and started beating at my chest. Naturally, I didn't even feel the dinky hits, but I did notice that he was doing quite a bit of damage to the armor. Something rolled down my leg, making a slight ravine in the compacted ice, was it the stuff I saw melting that man's face? This boy... Something clicked inside my head, I should kill him, he's dangerous. I rose my bladed arm but hesitated, the boy continued braying at my chest yelling out hopes for a fight. He was too young. I let my bladed arm drop then rose my other arm and swung my fist with a powerful left hook to his head. Whether it hit or not didn't matter, he was off of me. In that second of relief I could feel gunshots on me again, I could see the police were piling any leftover citizens and officers onto a swat van, they were going to leave. Taking this chance, I rose my fist, the ice around me began melting, I had to act fast. I shoved my fist into the wet asfault. The ground around me began to freeze, spikey shards of ice began raising as the ice progressed quickly on the ground. It hit a couple of the men, the ice raising through their foot, they screamed, one fell and was impaled to death by the ice on the floor. The rest of the thugs began running from the moderate flow of ice spikes. I stood up and sprinted for the truck which was just getting ready to move. I hopped onto the back, catching hold of grip bar. The doors were closed but I could hold on for a bit. With that, I watched the scene grow smaller and smaller, the ice flow had stopped as I got further. As a plus, the spikes had taken out the tires of nearby vehicles, they wont be pursued this day.
Someone from inside the back, opened the left door and told me to go in. It was a little tough with the vehicle moving but I eventually got into the back with the rest of the citizens and a few officers. The officer closed the door again and I stood before them, panting, ice sliding off my shoulders. How creepy I must've looked, my face whiter than a dead man's blood all over my arm, I could tell fear and distrust in a few of the eyes, but there were also a few that were... welcoming.
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Post by Turn 360 and walk away on Oct 5, 2009 0:56:46 GMT -5
Kyle was doing good, until the white thing swung it's huge arm at him, punching him in the ear with enough force to down a horse. He staggered around a bit, expecting his eardrum to be bleeding, as he watched the white thing walk away. Tears of anger and pain stung his eyes as he ran away from the scene, embarrassed and more seething of revenge. He was panting. Kyle took his sweatshirt off and rubbed his shoulders, as if counting the little crevices and pits that marred them. After catching his breath he began to walk back. Emerging from the alley, Kyle heard two things: one was a guy across the street yelling at people to evacuate, the other was a soft, wet sound. He looked down, where the sound originated. a bullet had torn away some of his left side, even with his navel. It wasn't until he looked at his red-stained hand that it began to hurt. He clutched it with both hands, stumbled forward. the ground was slippery, like he stumbled onto a skating rink. With wobbly, rush steps, he tried to hobble to the guard rain where he could sit, but half way there, his feet came out from under him and he fell to the icy ground. The only thing he could hear was the dull packing sound of his nose, more accurately, it's snapping. "Not a problem." he thought, "I'll stop the bleeding and just live with a crooked nose." Kyle looked at his hand, ruby-colored and becoming gummy, and heard from below him a faint popping sound. It sounded like someone was cooking bacon. Then that began to hurt, bad enough to make him forget about the gunshot. It felt like he was being melted. He turned over and gasped for air. His back began to feel just like his chest and face; it was getting burned, excruciatingly. The air smelled of cooking flesh. He pulled himself off the ice with his hands, palm down, burning worse than anything he'd ever experienced before. His legs were dragging behind him numbly. Once back in the alley, he gulped for air. He needed air more than anything in the world. It was think and greasy. It still reeked worse than back on the ice. he looked at his palms; they were peeling off in some places, revealing charred black ligament. Kyle laid there for a very long time before he could sit up. He sat for a very long time before he could stand. And stood for a very, very long time before he could make himself move back into the street.
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The people were leaving, just like they were supposed to. "Civilians in the truck! go go!" Nat looked towards the voice and saw that they had called in three armored trucks to transport people away. He chose one, and began to duck and weave his way towards it. Behind him, the White guy was back in view. He did something, then, more extraordinary than he could have thought; covered the ground in a thick sheet of glassy ice. Nat climbed into the truck that was bound to me leaving last ( it was the last in line and least-filled) and watched as the White guy turned into a normal guy, and ran for the truck, now lumbering up the street. Nat looked out the window saw him jump onto the back of the van, and opened the door. He climbed in, with snow still clinging to his shoulders, and looked around. The first thing that struck Nat was how pale he was. Then he forgot about it as he went to shake the newcomer's hand. "Name's Nathaniel Zarate. Friends call me Nat." he wouldn't mention the special powers in a bus-full of mob-happy, excited, angry people. No way.
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Anarchy
Oct 13, 2009 3:00:41 GMT -5
Post by B on Oct 13, 2009 3:00:41 GMT -5
My panting quickly slowed to average breathing. One of the men stood up and spoke to me. He sounded rather friendly and he held out his hand, saying his name was Nathaniel. I looked down at his hand and my eyes narrowed slightly. What kind of gesture was this? Was he being thankful? No... Nobody could thank me knowing what I am, they would be too scared to give me a friendly gesture... Unless they had an agenda. My eyes moved from the man's hand to his eyes. What did he have in mind? He wanted to say something, I knew it, something he didn't want the others to hear. Was he in a gang? Maybe I'm reading too much into this. I decided to extend my hand and grasp his. I could feel ice crunch down in my glove as our hands squeezed together, water squeezed out and hit the floor of the van, oh how uncomfortable this must've been for the man. I let go of his hand and reached behind my head for my hood and draped it over my head. "No offense, Nathaniel, but I wont be sticking around long enough to call you 'friend'." I murmured and took a seat on the wooden bench to the right, there were two benches that I would guess SWAT sat before they shuffled out of the van and into combat. Oh how I enjoyed the rest. I hoped that the man wouldn't talk to me anymore, I didn't want my theories to be true but I could see intent in his eyes, this guy wasn't going to let me go. My ears caught the sounds of police radios blasting, counting out dead officers, missing officers, and injured ones. All but the missing officers were in the double digits. I also heard them talking about me, the officer in my van spoke out and confirmed that I was here, it seemed they wanted to talk to me when they got me to their hideout... How sad... I remember passing by their ruins of a station this morning and now their lives are no different from the gangs but with opposite intent. I can't help to admire, though, their will to continue their job when half the city is against them.
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Anarchy
Oct 14, 2009 0:39:26 GMT -5
Post by Turn 360 and walk away on Oct 14, 2009 0:39:26 GMT -5
"No offense, Nathaniel, but I wont be sticking around long enough to call you 'friend'." Nat shrugged and stopped conversing, but continued watching him. The rest of the trip was taken in disquieting silence. After what was ten minutes worth of eternities, the van slowed to a rough stop, with crunching gravel and creaking breaks punctuating the sighs from the people in the back of the transport. One of the officers jumped out of the front and opened the door, took headcount as we shuffled past, and herded us into the makeshift station. Another officer was inside. With the passenger taking up the middle, driver in the back, and new officer leading us, we all were paraded into a hallway with the rest of the transportees, and further herded into a big, main room. Two of the three officers were debriefing us. The third was nowhere to be seen, he probably pulled another group into a separate room. Nat's group, meanwhile, were being lectured at about "what to do in case of a firearm" and to "report suspicious activity." As if either of those were rare enough occurrences to warrant action. nat shoved his hands in his pockets and went away to look for the third officer.
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The pain. There was nothing but the pain. The pain. And the resentment. Kyle limped along the alleyways contemplating that.The revenge. And nothing else mattered.
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Anarchy
Oct 15, 2009 23:40:47 GMT -5
Post by B on Oct 15, 2009 23:40:47 GMT -5
I sat in complete silence, relieved that the man wouldn't bother me anymore. The other people didn't seem quick to talk to me either. Minutes passed rather quickly for me. The convoy halted in an abandoned warehouse that seems to have been built up into what one would say was a military base. Mounted machine guns on top and lookouts... Of course, I couldn't see these yet, we were in the back of a van. The cops started moving and people started piling out. The driver touched me on the shoulder and I looked back quickly, defensively. He said that someone wanted to talk to me. I could hear a sernon about safety that some of the officers started preaching to the survivors but it went silent as we passed some dividers and eventually came to some stairs that lead into the director's office. From here there was a complete overview of the warehouse. Dividers sat like walls, it reminded me of a series of cubicles maybe even a little of a maze. A man in a brown leather chair stood up and removed the cigar from his mouth. "This is the guy you were talking about?" He asked, pointing at me with his cigar. The other nodded. "Yeah. He's Frosty the Snowman." "Huh." I murmured, the other man echoed me. "Are you on our side, kid?" My eyebrows lowered, I didn't like being spoken to like a child. I was twenty-three, not six. He saw my scorn and a smirk etched at the side of his mouth. "Well?" He pressed. "Are you ally or enemy?" "Matters..." I let my eyes wander away from him, looking at all the police commedations and other awards this man has won, it was like I didn't even notice the other man. The officer beside me leaned against the wall and lit a fresh cigarette, I winced as a puff of fumes wandered into my face. "Ooh, sorry." He said and backed off a bit. "Matters, what?" The chief asked, pressing the cigar back into his mouth, I could tell he was offended by my lack of eye contact but I didn't really care. "Matters if you're shooting at me or trying to take charge of the city like a ruler." I said straight out and he scoffed. "Don't compare me with that madman, I'm here to restore order. You seem like a smart kid." I winced again and he continued speaking. "Why don't you help us? With someone like you we can easily regain the city." I laughed, outraged and annoyed as I was. "I don't work with pigs and you guys will just get in my way. If you're smart, you'll bunker down here and let me do me do the big boy work." The chief shook his head. "You're just another Rambo who doesn't know that he can be outmatched. There's more than just guys with guns out there. Situations draw people hungry for power. Why don't you find a way out of the city, then? We have an oath to protect these people, it's not a warzone, it's gangs and you're killing them all, kids, men, women. You're no super hero." Now I was really starting to get pissed. My hand balled up then was getting plated in ice. The officer who was near me drew his gun. "Put down the... Ice!" He commanded. I took no heed to listen. "You don't want me as your enemy, so stay the fuck out of my way." I growled and the ice evaporated. I walked off, neither of the men stopped me but I could hear disgruntled comments from the chief. As I descended the steps I noticed the man from the van ascending them. I walked past him without a word and soon was out of the warehouse. There were civilians walking away, they must've started letting people go.
(You can have your guy follow him out and talk if you want)
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Anarchy
Oct 16, 2009 1:14:18 GMT -5
Post by Turn 360 and walk away on Oct 16, 2009 1:14:18 GMT -5
Nat bumped into the shoulder of the icy guy, but walked on, determined to reach the top of those steps. After leaving the debriefing early, he stumbled upon the office and caught the end half of the shouting match. When he reached the landing, the officer and other, decorated man were talking in whispers over the desk. "Who are you?" The cigar bobbed up and down between the commander's lips with each syllable. The officer turned and pulled his cigarette out from the corner of his mouth. "You're the guy who was hanging around the police barrier." "Caught me. red handed." "Well, who are you?" "I'm Nathaniel. Friends call me Nat." He said without the faintest smile. "Who the hell are you?" "Grady, please remove, this man from my office." The officer, Grady apparently, took steps toward Nat. The commander's cigar hung loosely out of the left corner of his mouth. Even when a sprinkling of ashed dropped from the tip of it onto his jacket, he brushed them away without breaking his hard stare. Grady took more steps, drew his weapon for protection, and came up behind Nat, still sitting complacently on the chair. With a small, imperceivable twitch, Grady did and About-Face and marched out the door, down the corrugates steel steps, and broke into a sprint out of sight. "So, Cigar-boy. I was hoping that we could talk." The commander reached for his radio, pressed the transmit button. With a frightened yelp, his hand jerked away and began slamming itself in a drawer of the desk. "Can we talk, please?" "What are you doing?!" Slam, slam. "Please?" Slam, slam, slam. Slam. slam. slam. Slam. "YES!" the slamming stopped. his arm went limp, before he could move it again and stuff his bleeding knuckles into his mouth. "I would like to get out of this city. I would like to get out, hire a search party, get my wife out. And you will never see me again." The commander looked at Nat impatiently. "You cannot help me. You can't even tie your own shoes. That man you just talked to. The guy with the ice. He can. What do you know about him?" "Are you one of those damn mutants too? Is that what this is?" "Would you like me break your other hand?" "What the fuck do you want me to do about this?" "What do you know about him. Tell me, please. Or else I'll make you throw yourself out of this third-story window. And no one will like that." "Are you usually this threatening?" "Only when fear is the simplest way of doing things. Now, squeal, little piggy." "I don't have to do shit!" The commander stood up and strode towards the door hurriedly. He reached his hand out to the knob, thought better of it (by the view from below the windowed door) and ran head-long into the glass. It didn't spider yet, but it rattled threateningly in it's frame. Nat still sat nonchalantly, dropping his boots, old, with almost flattened run-down heels, onto the Commander's desk and reclining further. "Can we please talk about this?"
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People weren't friendly in these days. But to Kyle, they reserved a special hatred. To Kyle, who was constantly comparing himself to Quasimodo. And his resentment grew. Kyle was looking for somewhere to sleep. Night was coming. Children threw stones at him. Punishing him for his disfigurement. parents tried to stop them, the little fuckers, until he turned around. A ruby-colored pit where his ear used to be. A cheek that looked like a frayed and over-stretched swatch of cloth. Each time he widened him mouth, you could see a pearly glint of tooth and saliva through places that burned through. And his resentment grew, and it grew. His arm hung lamely by his side, with no sign of life in it other than an occasional twitch of the fingers. Tendons stretched and sinew knotted under his peeling flesh. Where his flesh was still intact, it was bright pink, and shiny. Looked like someone stretched flesh-colored spandex over an arm, a leg three times too big. Like a really bad sunburn. People ran into him on the street. Pain shot through his limbs. They recoiled and walked on, faster. His resentment grew. His eye felt glued shut. His other, when it was open, only provided hazy ghosts of an image. He found a bench. It was in a park. Children were playing. Kyle sat down heavily. The children stuck out their tongue, moaned and scoffed hatefully and disgustedly. Kyle looked in their direction. Stared at them until they dispersed. Tucked his chin into chest. Closed his good eye and slept for five minutes at a time, between hours of fitful shifting and endless pains.
And his resentment grew.
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Anarchy
Oct 19, 2009 23:22:59 GMT -5
Post by D on Oct 19, 2009 23:22:59 GMT -5
Of course, given the circumstances, New York City was now considered something worst than a shit hole and the people living in it were the disgusting bacteria that struggled to keep alive. They were resisting being wiped off the face of the Earth, but at the rate of descent the city was going, the hope of ever taking back the city was slowly dimming. As if the whole quarantine hadn’t already diminished it, of course. Despite the facts, there were still those who actually tried to take back the city. Their actions almost always ended in failures and when they did succeed, it didn’t matter. “He” always seemed to be more powerful and a step ahead. It was, at times, sickening and many hated it, but there were also those who had their own agendas.
One of those types was an English woman named Elizabeth Michelle Price, or Emma for short. On the unfortunate day that the empire state building was attacked and practically demolished, her husband and her had arrived in New York to celebrate their wedding anniversary, but of course, like many stories relating to that tragic day, their story together ended sadly. The details of their story are unclear but the couple was forgotten and for months it remained that way. That is until her name resurfaced once again in the new New York.
Clad in black and dark gray motorcycle gear, a woman sat on top of her motorcycle, watching the slaughter of some men by another man she nicknamed Frosty the Snowman. Frosty seemed to deal with them quickly and almost effortlessly in her eyes, but the only time she ever frowned was when he froze the ground. The ground freezing over meant that she would have to go around it and with that she cursed, “Flippin’ Power Users…I hate those bastards.”
Ever since they showed up everything had gone wrong for her. Everything. And she was tired of it. She wanted it to change, and maybe finally go home, but she knew that her dreams were too far away. They were so far away that even she felt that they shouldn’t be considered as dreams. At least not anymore…besides, according to her boss, she had better things to do. Her job was in New York now and it was important because it was her lifeline.
“Blimey…” She sighed and stuffed her long, wavy brunette hair into her black helmet. “I hope he isn’t angry with me…” Emma gave out another sigh before she lowered the tinted visor to conceal her face and hazel eyes. After giving one more glance over her shoulder, she started her motorcycle’s engines and zipped away, avoiding the mess Frosty had made and other troublesome things.
Even with the time she saved taking less crowded streets, she knew that he would have her hide. Without a working radio or earpiece, the information needed would be delayed no matter what. Knowing that fact, she braced herself for the punishment she would receive from him. Hopefully her boss would let her off with a warning and let her go without hurting her, but that warm thought would never pass over to reality. He was ruthless and frightening. He was an anathema to her.
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