All for One, Chapter 1 (An Et Uni RP, IC thread)

[Isle of Lithonia]

Want to join the Eternal Universe? Click here!

All For One

Chapter One, Of Hope

---

Every human is a potential villain.
-Alexander Grim

Iron coated her tongue, all was a blur. Was she walking?

Curses rained down like an avalanche on her head. Abuses hurled at her, the hatred in their voices pierced deep into her soul.

They once called her friend, comrade. Now they named her "Exile".

A fist slammed into her stomach, and the Exile dropped to the ground. Her ears were pierced by the shrieking and sobbing, everything incoherent. Tearing her gaze from the earth, she looked up, only to see her lover towering over her, hands clenched into bleeding fists. There was no love there. Only agony and loathing.

---

Some time earlier...

Neon lights flickered in and out of life, playing a devilish dance across Jacelyn's face. Rot, piss, shit, the cries of malnourished children and the whimpers of orphans, addicts shooting up in the overcrowded alleys, police roaming the streets beating the innocent senseless. This is the Underground of Hope City, this is home.

It wasn't always this bad. Back when Kronos ruled, the streets were being cleaned up, addicts had safe-houses, the poor had some jobs, and the cops kept mostly to themselves. Of course there were issues back then, even under Jacelyn's mother. Kronos was a business after all. But even she told her daughter to learn from the mistakes of others.

Mother... Emotion began to stir deep in her chest. Was this...loss? "Damn, forgot my meds." She muttered.

A couple button presses later, and the tension was released from her body.

Nearing her destination, the ground began to vibrate with the heavy beats and drops of club music. The air was electrified, power surging through the veins of the untamed streets. If not for the music, no one would guess just how massive this underground club truly was. Walking past the massive lines of people clamoring for entrance, Jacelyn walked straight for the entrance. Her eyes focused on the glowing sign above the small wooden door, "Hard Booze, Heavy Music, Hot Babes and Hunky Boys, inside!" Those last two were what truly made this club the most popular, and yet expensive, club in the Underground. These weren't second-rate dancers, or some sleazy strippers who use their lack of clothing as an excuse for lackadaisical work. No, these were true professionals, no nudity allowed or required.

Noticing her walking up to them, the armed guards nodded, and stepped aside from the entrance. Down the elevator, she entered the Morris Nightclub.

Inside laid a feast for the eyes and ears, a neon paradise. Strobe lights flickered, a DJ set to the far end hammering out music that thudded deep inside your bones. Dancers spun around two-story poles, and jumped gracefully along a massive network of rails and neon-lit wires that covered the room, a delectable spider's web of grace and passion.

A young woman walked up to her, gracefully weaving between drunken customers. Quite a feat in those high heels and that skin-tight black dress. She didn't even drop the plate of drinks she carried. With a smile she leaned in, her lilting voice tickling Jacelyn's ear. "An Anarchist Knot for you, Grim?"

"To start with. And thank you Lily." she replied, swiping her card into the woman's wrist-creditor, making sure to add a generous tip.

Lily smiled, "Of course!"

As the woman turned and walked off, Jacelyn wondered if the woman's abusive boyfriend had finally been kicked from her house. Seeing the beginning of a bruise on the back of her calf just below her dress, her eyes narrowed slightly. I guess not.

This club was an escape from the piss-poor slums around it. Here you could forget the agonizing day-in and day-out of the Underground, and feel like a King or Prime Minister. You were somebody here, even if you were a nobody out there.

If you had a bit of cash anyway. Morris wasn't running a charity.

Walking over to her usual table, she found a couple of small-time drug dealers taking up her spot. Their conversation was difficult to make out, but judging from their vile gestures, they most likely were talking about some new conquest they made, or a commoner they swindled. Either way, Jacelyn wasn't in the mood.

Placing her hand on the table, she spoke up, "Wanna move?"

The men looked over at her, grimacing. The larger one stood up, cracking his rather callused knuckles. "'Scuse me miss, looks like yer lookin' in the wrong area. This table is for the big boys, not some low-life scavvie like yourself. Now, unless you plan on bein' my bitch for the night, how about you scram?"

Typically she would take her time, and let them know who they were talking to. But she could smell the cheap booze on their breath, and see the typical redness in their eyes from snorting Tiger.

Acting as if she was moving on, Jacelyn walked behind them. She grabbed the "big boy's" head.

"Thud!"

The thug crumpled into his seat, his head bloodied were it smacked the edge of the table. Seeing his friend incapacitated, the other dealer reached into his coat pocket. Before he could pull out his knife, he was staring into the twin steel barrels of Jacelyn's pistol. "Wrong move. Now, how about you scram?"

Letting go of the knife handle, the thug hoisted his friend, and hurried away from the table.

Grabbing a towel from a passing waitress she wiped the blood of the table, and handed the now soiled towel back.

Soon after she leaned back in her bench, Lily came by with her drink. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

"They weren't a problem." Giving the woman a small grin, she nodded. Off the waitress went to go deal with the rest of the club.

Searing heat burned it's way down Jacelyn's throat, warming her entire body. Closing her eyes, she placed her drink down, and let out a sigh. At least she had some reprieve from the hellish business of rebuilding Kronos.

It had only been a few weeks since Jeremy Mark had been assassinated by Republic snipers during his March of Freedom, and already Kronos was in total chaos. Crime boss after crime boss claimed to be the heir of the old PMC, and this only served to further splinter the once proud group. Now it seemed that Mark's notion of turning Kronos into an Anarcho-Socialist movement was...mostly unfeasible. At this point, it would be nothing less of a miracle that would bring his ideals back.

But Grim was a miracle worker. Well, at least she had the determination to become one.

The people in the Underground had suffered too much as it was. And the fat cats in the Republic didn't give a damn. Something had to change.

Nothing she could do until her mercenaries arrived though. Hopefully they were as good of a team as her Runner claimed they would be.

[The Empire of Tau]

Jerry A. Bagel

The trip down to the nightclub was a long-one. Jerry lived away from all the big clubs and spots, instead living down at his birth-home - where things are more ‘cleaner’ as one might say. After a few blocks, Jerry would soon find himself near the big night club that needed to be visited.

Afterall, it was not hard to find the nightclub that was packed with neon-lights and crowds of people lining up. Especially for Jerry, who never goes to those parts of the slums - so it was quick for him to notice the place.

The glowing sign above the small wooden door catches the eye of Jerry. "Hard Booze, Heavy Music, Hot Babes and Hunky Boys, inside!” A interesting title that Jerry would say so himself.

People were eyeing Jerry as he wheels itself towards the entrance. Many comments of bad and rude nature was heard, but Jerry was used to being treated like shit.

Once at the door, Jerry hands a paper to the two guards at the door. Both guards nods and let Jerry inside the sensey.

The hard-booming of music, the strippers, bronze being passed about, slutty maids, everything was new to Jerry. He had never been to a nightclub. It looks like that the owners of his place went all out. Exotic was the only word that Jerry would describe this place.

Jerry quickly grabs the arm of a maid, looking at her. It was Lilly.

“Miss, do you know the person of Grim? I wish to speak with the stranger-in-question.” Jerry speaks in a quick manner.

She replies, “Oh, um, she’s over there.” Lily points over to a table where lays Grim.

Jerry thanks Lily and wheels his way towards the table - dodging about the piles of people in his way.

Once arriving at the table, Jerry greets Grim. “Hello there. I guess you’re the person?”

Jerry was not the most physically fit. Besides from having crippled legs - he was also lanky and twitchy. His body would jump and move in unexpected movement in which he could not control. For intents and purposes, he did not look like a person to be a mercenary.

[The Twelve Isles]

Knight Isra Daoud
Knight Valentin Petrov, The Deserter
Hope Undercity

One did not have to be a genius to see that the two figures making their way down the tight alleyways and throngs of junkies did not belong. They were too tall, too proud. But not the pride of the rich or the famous, the kind of pride that was easily broken by someone who had seen real shit. No, they carried a warriors pride, the pride of soldiers and hero's from some old fairy tale. And if the well maintained armor and man's carved axe weren't enough indication, then the fur lined cloaks they wore certainly were. They were knights of the Order, soldiers of the Red Hand. A man and a woman, one bearing the green sash of a Ranger and the other the red sash of a Guardian.

They spoke as they walked, in hushed tones between themselves. They did not belong here, and they knew it. The Red Hands place was on the surface, down here was a way to irk the Republic, and bring about war no one wanted. And if any knew what their mission was, no one would let it slide. At least, that's what they believed to be the case. Still, the man seemed more preoccupied with the class of citizen they were among rather than the possibility of starting a war.

"This place is vile," he said, his voice dripping with disdain.

His companion sighed. This was where she had cut her teeth. "Sure," she said.

"And yet here we are," continued the man, indifferent to the woman's exasperation. "Helping these damn people."

"Valentin," said the woman, "I just do as I am told. We are alone on the surface, and The Nine say this is where we will earn allies."

Valentin straightened, indignation apparent on his face, but he chose not to say anything else. He looked around, taking in the neon of the Undercity, thinking of his own home in the Empire. Far more elegant than this, he thought. At least there was a sense of dignity. He frowned at a man throwing up in an alley, a half naked woman crouched next to him watching with a face of disappointed resignation.

The man glances up at Valentin and burped. "What?" He said. Valentin didn't answer, but breathed out heavily through his nose. "Fucking what?" said the man again.

"The God's watch you boy," said Valentin, and the man sneered.

"Fuck you, Knight," he said. "What the fuck do you know about me?"

Valentin opened his mouth to respond, but his companion had turned back and grabbed his arm. "Let's go Valentin," she said. "Stop being a prick."

"Isra," said Valentin as he was lead away, "you are the worst of them. I hope you know that."

"Sure," said Isra again. "The club is right around the corner, let's get inside."

Valentin followed. Isra was small, but he didn't want to push his luck with her. For someone so small, he had seen her do viscous things. The pair pushed through the crowd of people milling around outside, waiting for their chance to get into the club. Why anyone would want to be in a loud, crowded room filled with people you didn't know was beyond the both of them, but they were both people of the surface. Their lives were different to begin with, and when combined with the disciplined and ritualistic life of the Order, it put certain things into perspective. Like how clubs were for stupid people and those who wanted to be looked at. As they got near, Valentin looked up at the sign and scowled. "Hard Booze, Heavy Music, Hot Babes and Hunky Boys, inside!" it said. Far from pious. Isra hardly gave it a second glance, and while Valentin leaned on his axe and studied the outside of the club, she came to the bouncer. She wished she was in her mech, the extra height it would have offered giving her an intimidating edge over him, but instead she was just in her armor, the red robes worn over her shoulder making her look like a priest.

"Howdy," she said to the bouncer, flashing him a pretty smile and jutting her hip out. The bouncer seemed indifferent.

"The line starts over there," he said.

"Oh I know," said Isra, " but I'm not using the line. I was invited here by Ms Grimm."

The man was unimpressed, and fixed Isra with same indifferent look as before.

"That's a dangerous name to be throwing around Knight," he said.

"And I don't throw it around lightly," said Isra. "Do you really think and honorable Knight of the Red Hand would lie to you?"

"No," said the man, "and might believe you if you were someone else. But I know who you are Isra Daoud. A few years gone and a fancy cloak don't make you no longer a liar and thief."

Isra's happy go lucky facade dropped, and her eyes went cold. "And I know you, Sam Houston," she said. "If a Knight of the Hand went to the authorities and told them what I know, do you really think they would ignore it?"

"You know nothing," said Sam. "Your still just the lying shit you always were, only difference is who your conning now."

Isra leaned in and spoke into Sam's ear. He pulled back at first, but Isra grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back to whisper into his ear. "I don't know everything Sam Houston, but I know you got something to do with those little girls who disappear around this neighborhood. Not saying your the one who rapes em, but I am saying your the one who takes em."

Sam stiffened, but gave nothing away. "Slander," he said.

"Sam," said Isra, "we Rangers see a lot, and we know a lot. Don't think I don't know what I'm talking about for a moment." She let go of his shirt and stepped back, throwing her cloak over her shoulder and co her hip again. For all around them, it seemed for all intents and purposes that Isra was merely offering something for entrance. She was rather pretty, it would be a reasonable assumption. But Sam knew what she said, and he let her in through the door. Better folks thought of him as easy, rather than a child trafficker. "Come one Valentin," said Isra, waving to her companion.

Valentin hefted his axe and followed. As he passed Sam, the bouncer said "you can't take that inside."

Valentin gave him a dull look and said "it goes where I go, and I go where she goes." Sam didn't respond, and Valentin pushed his way through. Inside, the bass thumped deep into his chest, and he instantly crashed into a patron.

"Watch it asshole," said the patron. Valentin ignored him and caught up with Isra, walking next to her. He scanned the crowd, looking for Jacelyn Grim. He took in the dancers, lithe and provacative, the waiters in skimpy clothing, and the dancers grinding up on one another in a frothing sexual mass. At one table, he saw a man and two women lean down and snort thick white lines from the glass. He leaned down to Isra, and said in a disdainful voice, "heathens," before straightening back up to his full height.

"Do you see her?" said Isra, ignoring his comment.

"Yes," said Valentin. "She's in the back corner, with a young man who appears to be in a wheelchair."

Isra nodded, and walked off in the direction Valentin had designated. She pushed through the crowds, her eyes flicking back and forth quickly and conspiratorially. These were the kinds of places where people would sneak your wallet or stick you with a needle, and she kept her hand close to her pistol as a result. If anyone tried anything, she would not hesitate to cut them down right here on the dance floor. But she suspected Valentin's presence was more than enough for many. The people seemed to split like he was Moses when they saw him, large broad and hefting a mighty weapon, a scowled on his all the while. She came to Grims table and hooked her thumbs into her sash around her waist, as Valentin came up next to her. He put himself in between Isra and the young man in the wheelchair, glancing down at him with an impassive face and resting his hand on the head of his axe. Isra glanced over at the boy as well, before looking back at Grim and saying, "ma'am, I am Ranger Isra Doud and this is my companion, Guardian Valentin Petrov. We are Knights of the Hand, sent by the Nine Commandents of the Order, as a show of good faith for possible alliances between our two organizations going forward. We are at your disposal ma'am."