Demens Chosen IC [CLOSED]

by **Cerillium** » Fri Mar 17, 2017 7:19 pm

IC THREAD ITERATION XIII

THEY GO—
And may whatever gods they believe in
Go steadfastly with them
Into the Abyss

by **Cerillium** » Fri Mar 17, 2017 7:20 pm

C H A P T E R T W O

"Alarm! Alarm! Alarm!" The intercom cracked to life two hours before anyone in their right mind would have awoken. Residents sat up in the beds as Volker's voice cut through their dark rooms. "This is not a drill!"

The tension in his voice set Myra's arm hairs on end. She stumbled from her bed and snapped on the light. Her fingers frantically tore off her nightgown. Thank goodness I laid this all out last night! Hands snapped uniform pants from their hanger. Her legs fought their way into them, and then she turned her attention to finding her bra in her sheets.

"Alarm! All forces, to the Lobby, alarm!"

"Oh fuck it all!" Myra grabbed a spare from her drawer, then topped it with the shirt. Pajama socked feet slipped into the boots. There wasn't any time to put on anything more proper. Their thinker material painfully bunched against her toes as she ran down the hallway.

She wasn't alone. More Residents poured from their rooms as she sprinted by, most of them no more awake than she. Her feet thundered down the stairs, one flight, then two. More people crowded in the stairwell behind her. The Lobby windows showed nothing but darkness and the nightly fog blanketing the landscape outside. Myra's eyes sought the clock on the wall near the Front Desk: 4 AM?!

"Volker, what's going on?" Her question joined the others hurled at Volker. Her mind dimly registered Klaus and Minerva, both looking freshly awoken, as well as the distinct form of Mayor Mercer. The cervitaur in charge of North Warnborough Near Knoll seemed beside herself with worry. Fretful hands wrung each other, and her glassy doe's eyes betrayed her desperation.

The door beside the telephone booth banged open to reveal an exhausted Neste. She squeezed between Residents, clattering her teeth at a few too groggy to realize they blocked her way. Myra's eyes followed her as the lizard climbed atop Volker's chair to stand higher than the crowd.

"QUIET!" her voice cut the air. The loud murmuring taped off. She turned towards their officers. "Klaus?"

"Training is- HUSH!" Klaus stomped a jack boot. "Training is delayed. Major Mercer has a crisis. She's come to us. Listen up!"

Myra's eyes widened. A crisis? Now?

"The Carnal Carnival arrived last night." It was now Minerva addressing the group. She hastily tucked stray hair into the loose bun atop her head. "It isn't our Carnal Carnival. I don't have time to explain the nuances between the two. Something has happened with the tents. People go in. Their groups drag them out - dead."

"Oh gods," Neste's eyes widened in turn. She fought down horrid memories of Septimus' death.

"We are the only group capable of rendering assistance," Minerva continued. "Few people on Galli possess our knack for dealing with hard core shit. We've agreed to lend our aid. Now listen up! The tents are magic. They'll offer the visitor any vision they wish to see. The enchantment remains until the person exists. These tents are currently running whatever fantasy - well, whatever it is that is killing townspeople inside. Many are trapped. We must extract them as quickly as we can."

"Trucks are here!" Klaus gestured towards the doors. Priests and Thaddeus had hauled the rigs from the garage. They pulled up to the Building in a line. "There's not time to grab your shit. Go, go, go!"

He stormed towards the doors and down the front steps, followed by as many Residents as could be mustered. No thought was given to who rode in what.

Myra clung to a cargo strap as the trucks tore down the gravel path. Her frightened eyes tried to make out the other people in the truck's confines. She thought she spotted Maghrl's fur, and was that a glint from Giovenith's hair. The cool night air caused the girl's teeth to chatter, and every pothole the truck's wheels struck jarred her from her seat. Shouts and screams cut through the roar of the engines, and they seemed to part through a crowd - terrified but determined faces stared at them as they passed.

The truck's lower gate slammed down to allow people to disembark. The Residents found themselves in a trampled meadow. Myra gasped. It was the Carnival, but part of it was burning. Her fingers flew to her nose and mouth to block out the stench of burnt canvas and...flesh? Was that flesh burning?

"Fireteams are tackling the south end," Klaus' shout rose above the noise. "Hospital is to the north. We need you people in tents, NOW! Bring them out! We'll triage them. Go back and grab more! Follow me! Abyssus Abyssum Invocat!"

Klaus lead their charge. The Residents' warm body's pressed in and jostled Myra as she blindly ran with her neighbors. They passed the Carnival gate, and then the smouldering food vendor carts. The ring toss game still burned, the stuffed animals curling and coiling as the heat twisted their synthetic fur and scales. The group slowed as he did. He paused at the first tent's flap. It reminded Myra of a gaping maw.

"Nivea, Feniel, Divine," he sought their shoulders and pushed them towards it. "Amanda, Calani, Macy. Go! Be careful! GO!"

Myra watched them vanish inside, into the darkness, into whatever illusion or magic was at work. Her bottom lip quivered. Nivea was just a courier. Amanda was just a lawyer. Please, let them be safe.

The group moved on and Klaus ran to catch up, then pass them. He paused again, this time before a tent awash with the stench of fuel. "Where's the Klingon? Mezran! Go. Sig, Hectaros, Septimus, Luce, Marcus, Myra, go! GO!"

The others swept into the tent. Myra paused at the flap as Klaus' voice raised again at the next tent down. "Giovenith, Maghrl, Thaddeus, Cecile, Mathias, the rest of you - this one!"

His eyes locked with hers. Myra squeaked and ducked into the tent....

Beware the Ides of March

"FUCK!"

A metallic glint alerted Myra to something bright and heavy sweeping towards her head. She squealed and scrambled backwards. The mud under her boots caused her feet to shoot forward, depositing her on her ass. Pure luck, as it was the only way in which to evade the sword swung by - HO FUCK!

He was a barbarian. No, he was a Roman. Oh fuck it all, he was huge! His body odor stung her nostrils as he pressed forward, powerful arms swinging the two-handed sword towards the cloudy sky to bring it down upon her head. Her hands flew up in futility to ward off his attack. The scream died on her lips only to be replaced by a gasp as a pole thrust through his torso. His meaty hands dropped the sword to clutch at the spear tip as he crumbled.

"Fucking get up!" Marcus kicked dirt at her before crouching to pick up a - sword? The fuck was going on? "These aren't villagers, twat! Fucking defend yourself!"

The field, lit by hazy sunlight, teemed with large brutes holding deadly weapons. Myra rolled to her hands and knees and crawled through the red clay beneath her. But this wasn't rainwater, was it? It was dirt saturated by blood. She fought the urge to vomit as she grabbed a cast-aside pole arm and gained her feet.

"Septimus, look out!" she squealed as a brute roared and charged towards the smaller man, his sword held at the ready and a look of malice in his eyes.

The warriors around them seemed to sense fresh meat. They turned and ran towards Hectaros and Sig, while their brutish companions narrowed their distance from the Conservator and the Klingon. For a brief moment, it would be one-on-one, but Myra knew that luxury wouldn't last.

A dark shape blocked her view of her friends. She squeaked and brought the spear up to make contact with an enemy shield. It deflected towards his torso, and Myra's feet propelled her forward to knock him off balance before he could complete his swing.

Feld des Todes

Agony! Fear! Confusion!

The Force spoke clearly to the Jedi as he stepped into a sun dappled meadow. At first, he couldn't tell where it came from. It was everywhere, but above, but distant and nearing far too fast. A high-pitched whine scattered birds from the trees at the meadow's far end, and then a roar shook the very earth.

The jumbo jet's front wheel nearly clipped his taller companions' heads as the plane rocketed over them. Too fast an approach, not a good place to land! The Residents watched, helpless to interviene, as the aircraft's belly slammed into the rich soil. It plowed a wide furrow through sedge and sweet grass and then, much to Thaddeus' horror, the front end struck an obstacle and the entire fuselage cracked in two.

"No," the pleading died on his lips. Cybernetic eyes registered the bodies still strapped in their seats, now cartwheeling through the air and along the ground. These people were certainly dead. Even Maghrl's senses told him so. The rest - those still trapped in the fuselage as it slid across the meadow, might have survived.

He didn't consult his companions before bolting towards the aircraft's remains. He was halfway there by the time it came to a rest.

Screams met the Residents' ears. Their fear pressed in on the Jedi's mind and tore at the godling's heart. Prayers, so many prayers, uttered to unresponsive gods.

A plume of smoke began to rise from an engine still attached to a wing. Someone - a stewardess perhaps, cracked open a rear door to activate the brilliantly yellow escape slide.

by **Giovenith** » Fri Mar 17, 2017 8:27 pm

Giovenith didn't waste time panicking or questioning when she was woken by the alarms. She'd grown up long enough in this place and had a realistic enough expectation of the grim battles that were to come to know that such things were best put aside until the action was over. She was dressed and out the door in a split, stopping briefly to listen to what little they knew so far of the crisis at hand.

Evil carnival tents? This wouldn't be good. Temptation was one of the strongest weapons. Keeping this in mind, Giovenith mentally prepped herself on the journey to the hellish location. No matter what she saw, she told herself, she had to stay focused. Do not chase dreams. Stay serious.

That was easier said than done.

Giovenith was surprised they hadn't gone deaf from the impact of the plane crash. It shook her skeleton and littered her sight with such carnage that her mind begged to wake up from the nightmare before accepting the horrid reality. An empathetic soul, she was sorely tempted to weep, but she knew they had to act.

"Get everyone away from the wreckage first and foremost!" she ordered out to the group. "Most victims in plane crashes die burning in wreckage! Get everyone out, then start tending to the most serious as quickly as you can. Go!"

Her hand reached to her pocket and a flurry of paper birds escaped. They zipped their way to the crash site, doing their best to cut seat belts, drag people away, and wrap themselves tightly around bleeding wounds until someone with bandages could arrive. Several couldn't take the heat and were burnt up, only to quickly be replaced as Giovenith occasionally threw more and more into the air inbetween doing her own part to drag out and first aid the victims.

by **Holy Lykos** » Fri Mar 17, 2017 10:19 pm

Maghrl

The squib Maghrl being who he was, had woken up almost instantly from the alarms. His ears flicked back from instinctive distaste of the loud noise, even louder for his sensitive ears. But no time for complaints, something bad was up. The squib rapidly dressed and pulled his primary saber onto his belt, thankful the force would let him get what little he might need so rapidly. With that little prep he was out and heading for the lobby with the crowds of residents running their way through the halls and staircases.

Though Maghrl had never experienced one of these carnivals, the feelings he could gather from those in the room told him it was nothing good. This guess would very soon prove to be true, of course. The frenetic trip to the village, being pushed through the tents and then...

His senses felt afire with the worst of sentient emotions. The rawness of this emotion made him freeze for a moment before he launched himself to aid those already helping. He tuned himself into the agony rushing through the Force to try and pinpoint those who hadn't perished yet, nodding in affirmation to Giovenith's orders. No time to argue, they had beings to rescue from what might be certain death. He ran for the split in the fuselage, trying to find the closest surviving person.

The squib had a thought though. While unlikely to work, he could probably use the force to quell at least some of the flames, or attempt to keep them at bay. Air was able to be manipulated just like solid objects after all, but the fuel-fed fire might not be able to properly go out by just removing oxygen from the air around it, or sealing it in. Didn't mean he couldn't try though.

Sigtrygg

The viking had only been back a short time, fetched during the resident's vacation like a few others had. He was more than happy to be back, and would wish to catch up with people he knew from the time long ago he had spent in the building. But of course things were different now. A war between gods, and the building being called by one of the greater gods to help with this grander conflict. Sig was eager to help, in what little capacity someone non-magical like himself might be able to. Men may be lesser in outright might, but it is not like they were by default any lesser in heroism and bravery.

Though this chaotic way of waking up did him little favors. The viking was only able to grab a bit of his full kit. His arm guards, chain hauberk, helmet, and under-clothes were easy enough to get on in a pinch, but the rest would take too long or require aid to properly don. He grabbed his sword too, and shield. Needed should combat come, and were in a state of readiness next to his bedding. Warrior habits were hard to break, and proved useful in emergencies. But going into hell would be another matter. And hell is what they would find.

It honestly hadn't been long since he last fought man-to-man. Raids on Roman territory by the Moslems were common. The recent coming of the Seljuk had only increased those raids. For Sig it was an environment he knew well, and hated just as much. Upon entering the tent after Myra, the rust-iron scent of spilt blood was on the air instantly. Blood, barely seen carnage, and the shouts of many different tongues. Utter chaos, as it was. These brutes might be fighting each other just as much as those who happened to stumble into the tent.

As reflex, he tugged his shield off his back. Sig's was a round wood and steel rimmed affair with a sigil of the Allfather Odin painted on it: the interlocking triangles of the Valknut. Under that, the colors of his house, white and blue in quarters. His sword scraped out of the sheath as well, just in time to hear the startled noises of Myra, and see her knock her assailant off balance. This was already something out of the worst battles in the North and against the Moslems. Those of the desert were just as tough as those of the North, oftentimes.

And as much as Sigtrygg would have wanted to rush to the aid of a civilian in need, there was no practical way to until some of the other warriors were dealt with especially one rushing right for him. In the little sunlight they had, it was hard to tell just how many brutes and fighters they would have to deal with, but many seemed armed much like those Sig fought often. But oddly... armored. He could not explain what would possess one to armor themselves in such an odd manner.

But any musing on where these brutes might have came from was cut short by the cry of one of them properly charging at him, longaxe held high in the air with the intent to strike. Steeling himself, Sig replied with a shout of his own in Norse, calling for the strength of Thor as he focused on the one approaching him. With a grimace, the Varangian snapped his shield up in a flash to ward off the strike of the longaxe. This lead to the brute being off balance, and a kick with a heavy leather boot easily continued that long enough for the defender's sword to sing through the air.

A gout of blood, and Sig's combatant was hobbled as steel bit into his leg. A sharp tug and the sword widened the wound upon exit. Of course, this one seemed to be a proper berzerker. Sig's foe was utterly unfazed, roaring out in primal fury as the double axe was swung once again, embedding itself into the viking's shield and sending him a step backwards with heavy boots digging into the blood-softened clay soil.. Not good, not good at all.

Even being disadvantaged and off footing, it was only right to fight on and on. A person's moment of death was predestined. If he was to die here he would go out fighting. So with an answering savage shout, Sigtrygg used his back foot to push forward and off of the blood-soaked ground, directly into his opponent. His shield was thrown, the embedded axe wrenched from his opponents hand. A knee was driven right into the other's crotch, soon to be joined by a sword into the chest upon the pair landing on the ground. Brutal and fast, constant improvisation, and raw strength. Things that made a viking one of the best warriors of his age would be most useful in this sort of situation.

Once the Brutes last trembling shakes and spasms died off, Sig rose again to his feet. Another sharp tug and his sword slid out of its grisly holster and up again into the air. As the viking moved slowly across the battlefield, he held his sword aloft and defensively to ward off any other of those who might approach as he went to retrieve his shield and work towards Myra. She was no fighter, Sig knew that much. While anyone facing death could be fierce, against an experienced fighter she very well could be doomed.

by **Highfort** » Fri Mar 17, 2017 10:42 pm

Story: Beware the Ides of March
Char: Septimus

Septimus emerged in the Lobby fully-dressed sans his uniform overcoat, his typical ambassador dress shoes replaced with worn work boots. Black lapels glinted in the light of the lobby, pinned to his outfit to indicate his affiliation, as he took in Klaus' orders over the din of the confused, tired Residents occupying the small room. His eyes sought Neste, the uniformed construct looking as tired, if not more so, than anyone else, and he caught the panic that briefly flashed across her face as Klaus brought up the Carnal Carnival.

He wished to remember little of the incident, though seeing a hole in his chest where his failing organs once sat had branded his memory forever. If this Carnal Carnival wasn't their own - as terrible as his experience with their own had been... He suppressed the urge to vomit, the remnants of coffee and the cheap leftovers that had passed for last night's dinner rising in his throat.

The cyborg found himself in a truck, the panicked voices of the Burrow's inhabitants filling his ears as the transports barreled toward the beleaguered little town.

Sprinting alongside his fellows worked up a mild sweat, and the bright light and searing heat of the flames contrasted with the cool fog of the evening. The urge to vomit rose again. Everything was so... wrong. It had all gone to shit so fast.

At the back of his mind, he willed his processor - with what limited power it had - to bring up the required data. If whatever fantasies lay in those tents had belched out corpses and bloody bones, he had a feeling the night would be long.

Klaus' words rang out in his ears, and without second thought Septimus turned and his boots took him to the smell of smoke and gasoline.

And then he was back.

On Kashtilag, on Andropoles-II, on Andaris, he had been home. And he was home again.

The smell of death was in the air. The light shone on dirt soiled with the blood of warrior and slain.

Who was he kidding with those titles? Diplomat? Ambassador? He rolled his shoulders and set his stance as Myra screamed his name. This was where he belonged, although the weapons were cruder than the elegance of the plasma rifles that he'd grown so accustomed to in his universe.

The man must have dwarfed him by at least a foot and a half, but the stream of data assured Septimus he still had the upper hand. The mouth was curled in a gesture of cocksure cruelty, and the stance was one of pure aggression. As the sword went up to hack away at his shoulder, Septimus duck away, eyes rapidly scanning the stained dirt around him for a weapon. A pike, much like the staff that had kept him alive on the Targ hunt, presented itself.

Grabbing for it, he let out a satisfied grunt at its heft and integrity, even as he was shoved forward into the dirt by the warrior who looked to claim his head.

He played out the dance in his head, and in his body it was reflected. The spear came up, deflecting the sword's stab with its shaft before knocking the Roman back. Sweat stung at his eyes as the ambassador shoved once, then again. The Roman let out a roar at the offense, pushing forward only to find his swings blocked by the well-timed poking of Septimus' polearm.

Yes, yes, Septimus thought, Come on. Tire yourself out.

More blows, more deflections. Septimus steadily lost ground, and he knew he had to finish this man off and find a proper shield if he and the rest of the team were to survive this night.

He nearly slipped over a shield, fortuitous as it was, and the pommel of the Brute's sword managed a welt on his chest before he could regain his footing.

A roar in a foreign tongue indicated the warrior had had quite enough, and the Brute went in for the kill with much strength, finesse lacking. The spear point's aim was true and a splash of blood stained Septimus' dark uniform jacket as the man was skewered. The Brute let out one last shudder and attempted to flail his arm, before collapsing.

Quickly grabbing the shield, Septimus snapped the pike's shaft in half to make it easier to wield before making his way toward the teenage girl and the imposing Viking. He was sure Sig could handle himself one-on-one, but Myra didn't seem quite a fit for this mission.

And he saw more Brutes coming. The Residents needed to form a steady battle line, if what limited knowledge he had of Earth military history was correct, or their inferior numbers would soon be overwhelmed.

"Myra, Sig, Mez, Hectaros, Luce," he called out, raising his shield as he made his way toward the former two, "Regroup, quickly, with shields!"

by **Primordial Luxa** » Sat Mar 18, 2017 11:42 am

Story:Feld des Todes
Character: Insidious
Location: Carnal Carnival, Airplane Crash Site.

Weak traces of narcotics still pumped through Insidious’s veins as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Her heavy lids struggled to stay open after such a rude awakening. But luckily unlike many other, she didn’t have to worry about clothes or tools.

However, all the sleep that clung to her disappeared in the sudden explosive caused by the crashing plane, and her eye leaped open to suck in the surroundings. A cauldron of pleasant smelling smoke and delicious screams graced her ears, and she imagined what kind of sensations must be going through the crash victims minds. Terrible adrenaline robust enough to burn the body, fear so strong it numbed the muscles and pain which blotted out emotions. Insidious mused on it as she carefully walked closer to the wreckage. Shoelessly she stepped closer to the heat and debris relying on the subtle dermal modifications to her feet to offer her protection.

Many of the flames were too tough for her to endure, but her advanced biology offered her protection from a distance and some of the smaller flames. She couldn’t assist those deep inside the embroiled guts of the wreckage, but she tried to pick through the other pieces to find survivors that had been tossed free.

When Insidious found such a victim, she forced commands of compliance upon them using her deeper understanding of the mind to influence their behavior. “Relax, do not panic, stay awake” she commanded taking advantage of the weakened mental state of the victims to force them into the mental state that she desired.

She carried them over to the safe area where many others were setting up the ones they were saving.

by **Mincaldenteans** » Sat Mar 18, 2017 2:23 pm

Story: Beware the Ides of March
Char: Mezran

The alarm that blared through his apartment had propelled the Klingon to his feet and in his uniform in less than two minutes. Such was readiness requirement while training in the Klingon military; such requirement during those campaigns against the Jem'Hadar, and such were the random battle drills that he ordered when in command of his own ship. The training had turned to habit had turned to second nature as his feet had pressed on toward the lobby while adjusting the last straps of his gauntlets. The mek'leth he had taken lied sheath by his right hip, no other weapon could be taken in short order, but the Klingon was confident that his favored weapon would be enough if necessary.

His assumption would prove correct.

There wasn't time to express or grunt confidence that Septimus had joined their group. The attack had commenced with an unequal advantage; them at the ready while their own group barely a hair's breadth to react. Such was the Klingon's case as a spear lunged forward and battle reflexes and physical memory took over as Mezran grabbed the offending lance and tugged it forward with all his might. The armored clad human with his spear arm, shield, and strange attire stumbled forward, with his helmet meeting Klingon forehead and the once sturdy grip loosened for Mezran to jerk it away from him. A large boot crashed into the shield and Mezran pivoted his hip, whirling around the blood soaked mud under his feet as he landed a crushing blow of the spear's handle against another attacker. The hard wooden weapon broke in pieces and splinters, his new attacker lay dazed against the powerful counter and before he could rise, his end came with a spear tip lodged into his chest.

Nothing set a Klingon's blood ablaze like being in battle! This was a worthy enemy, their eyes were not as empty or devoid as the fiends, these men would feel and know their demise by Mezran's own hands! His original attacker had gotten back to his feet and Mezran turned his head toward his first target, jerking the splintered spear from the dead soldier under his feet and unsheathing his mek'leth. The attacker charged, sword and shield met mek'leth and spear; his attacker wasn't as big as Mezran, but he was faster, slightly more nimble despite the heavy shield and pushed the Klingon back with it, causing the captain to stumble and struggle for balance.

His enemy took notice, closing that precious space between them and swiped his shield against Mezran's spear hand, knocking it out of the Klingon's grip while his own sword came down. The move was fast, but sloppy, as though the human was desperate to finish the fight and Mezran took the window, ignoring the slight stinging pain on his left wrist while he swiped upward with his mek'leth, disarming his foe. Permanently. There was not scream, the shock was too much to process any vocal reaction as the human fell upon his knees, wide eyed through his helmet, only just grasping the reality of what had just happened.

"p'taQ!" Mezran spat at the human, swiping his mek'leth against his opponent's neck, finishing it.

His Klingon blood raged with a fire that could only be sated by battle or death, and before Mezran could surge forward against their enemy, a familiar voice had cut through, giving the captain pause, "Myra, Sig, Mez, Hectaros, Luce: Regroup, quickly, with shields!"

Grunting to himself, he claimed the shield of his second attacker, it lacked the dent of his boot and moved quickly. He spotted Septimus, the dragon girl and a human the Klingon spotted immediately as a warrior, almost as tall as he was. He advanced toward them, albeit with the good sense to defend himself in the process and formed up with them. His eyes didn't dart toward the group whole to assess their state, his eyes stayed upon their enemy.

"Your plan," Mezran barked at Septimus, part statement, question and demand all in one.

"I know these hookers don't think we'll just saddle up like this every fucking time!" Devine swore out loud while holstering two of his guns against his thighs as he and Calani strode out of their guest apartments. Normally, they wouldn't be here, but it was seen as prudent to rotate the BP crew and stay among the Residents in order to establish some kind of presence and familiarity. They got the first trade off, but thankfully it wouldn't be long, but whatever old fart in the air have mercy to whomever greeted them back when they returned: Devine was going to give 'em an earful for this inconvenience.

"Four motherfucking a.m., these bitches know there is a thing called beauty sleep right?" Devine continued to complain as the doors opened to the lobby and he skulked in the back with Calani as the situation was briefed quickly.

The holsters scratched against his leather pants as they were all rounded up into the bus. He barely had time to find an adequate top, settling for a short jacket that looked more and more like a midriff over a slim fitting black v-neck. The lack of makeup had only added to Devine's darker mood and his lips curled in disgust at being herded with Calani like sheep together with Residents he didn't particularly care to know to one tent. The only one with an even slight interest and worth a second glance was the Elf, admiring the hair, though the bald Asian kept that little detail to himself.

They were in, a breeze swept through the port, sending a chill up his spine as Devine tasted the familiar scent of sea salt. It was night and far from peaceful as gunshots and an explosion lighted the night sky and sent them all into a huddle behind a few crates that lay close by.

"The fuck are you people doing here?" Someone cursed from the darkness and Devine's gun arm immediately rose to take aim.

"And pray tell who the fuck are you?" He spat back.

"I'm part of the Burrows, my name is Charlie and... and this is my living hell. Its repeating itself all over again! We have to get out of here!"

"Save the panicking precious, we're here to get everyone else out of here," Devine replied, though the gun wasn't lowered by any means. "Where are they and what's with the warehouse with a seaside view?"

"Manticore safe-house... I was... I was one of 'em, and X5. X5-336 - transgenic. I escaped with a bunch of others-"

"Skip the history, honey," Devine grimaced as the explosions around them increased and the gunfire became too close for comfort, "Get to the point!"

"The warehouse! That's where our people are being held among others. There's a raid happening right now, this is how I know its happening all over again!"

"What the fuck are you on about?!" Devine cursed.

"We all died this night," Charlie said softly, but it was heard among them all.

"Of course the motherfucking universe gotta send me and you to another death pit. Like the fucking Great Khan sands weren't enough," Devine swore (or complained, really both) as he unholstered his spare gun and gave it to Calani. He nodded for her to take it, "Take it, honey, I don't plan to die because some lame ass is reliving his nightmares. You, 336-"

"The name's Charlie," the trangenic replied tersely.

Devine looked a bit taken aback and responded in kind, "Do I look like I give a shit? You're gonna lead us in and out of this with your fellow Burrow people. So, Charlie, take point, and don't nunya hookers do something stupid cause I will cut a bitch."

by **Truth Incarnate** » Sat Mar 18, 2017 4:51 pm

Cecile Tucker

The first thing that Cecile registered was the blare of an alarm, ringing and rattling on outside her door. Her room was packed with random antique furniture, wood and cloth all around, the room supposedly meant to take the form of whatever apartment the inhabitant considered best. Personally though, she thought that this was just a bit of an unnecessary clutter. What a terrible subconscious she possessed, hmm?

Cecile had been leaning against a wall facing the entrance, a shard of bone clutched in one hand and her back against the wall, slumped on the floor, having fallen asleep waiting for some calamitous event to occur. Maybe the government agents would finally have shown themselves, maybe there would have been some sort of interrogation attempt. But now, it seemed that the facility was going to hell. Slamming the door open, she mumbled a half-hearted apology to the person whom she'd accidentally hit with the suddenly opened door, watching a vaguely humanoid figure stumbling down the corridor, clutching their face. The entire hallway was quite busy, people and otherwise emerging from their doors and running down to some unseen location. It was easy enough to just follow one of them through the confusing labyrinth of vaguely marked directions and carpeted hallways.

And lo and behold, Cecile emerged into some sort of... Carnival. There was smoke in the air, throngs of people all around, heads bobbing up and down. "Demens' Chosen" were going in all directions, spreading out to do... Whatever a crisis like this required. Any thoughts of conspiracy were lost as Cecile watched a plane soar overhead, and dive into the ground, the nose of the aeroplane scrunching up like a plastic cup, the screech of metal and the smell of ash saturating the air even further than before. Pushing through the crowd and approaching, she noted two or three people already there. What an absolutely thrilling turnout of people to help deal with a literal plane crash. Moving forward, the air slowly turned bitter and coppery, and smoke began to cloud her vision. Was this training? She didn't know. It was probably some convoluted attempt at telling everyone to "always keep your guard up", or something like that.

Cecile fell over the first body, a bleeding man with a cut on his cheek and a great deal of blood under his back. He wasn't dead, but he was far from the only one here. The paper birds had been dragging people out, lining them up outside of the plane wreck. Kneeling down, she tried to stem the bleeding. Even though the best course of action was probably to get those people out, it still wasn't exactly the most desirable task, and frankly, Cecile didn't want to burn to death. The man had been speared through the side of the chest with a piece of shrapnel. That crash had certainly been something. Even as her hands began to donate stem cells and seal the man's wound with spare scar tissue - something that just sort of happened naturally, Cecile noted that this whole thing should have been a little more... Traumatising. Instead though, she just felt tranquil. Spending your days dissecting corpses and live people as the status-quo for your job did that to someone after a while, she supposed. Cecile soon got up, hands covered in blood, and moved on to the next person. She didn't have medical supplies, but it wasn't like she knew how to use them anyway.

by **Torrocca** » Sat Mar 18, 2017 5:23 pm

Hectaros

The legionary of ages past steadily rose to his feet, shrouded in near-total darkness of a purplish hue, except for a small, glimmering light of white far away. He looked, trying to find something else, but soon turned back to the light; he felt a stranger's presence beckoning him forth, and he unwillingly agreed, taking slow, heavy steps toward the light but never seeming to near it. It felt like his foot steps were both real and yet fake - although they existed clearly in his mind, there was no noise or feeling as each foot fell to the ground, as each leg, each facet of his body moved with a machine-like rhythm. It was a walking style he'd become accustomed to over the years, that of the professional drilling of the legions; yet it felt as if he was perfectly still. The only thing he could feel was a light, chilling gust of wind wash over his back, and he saw the dim purple surrounding him gradually shift into a blue. Several voices that were flat and almost dead all at once whispered from the darkness faintly, "Legionary... come and see..."

"Who are you?" Hectaros replied, slowly looking around and seeing nothing.

"Come and see..." they said, nearer this time.

"Where are you? I can't see," he said back, peering into the darkness to find the slightest hint of the owners of these voices.

"Come and see... Legionary..." they said, still nearer and nearer. ""Come and see... Come and see... Come and... see." A gentle hand rested delicately on Hectaros' shoulder, and the creature, humanoid in shape, but with it's bone-like hands and hidden face, inhuman to the soldier, shifted silently around the man until it was directly in front of him, smiling. "You are Hectaros... no?" it asked, and the legionary only responded with a nod of the head. "Come and see... legionary... come and see..." it said once more, guiding him toward the light.
"What is there, at the light?" was all the legionary could ask; he could hear the voices of this beast clearly, but not his own. The figure did not reply, only silently leading the man on. As they walked, he felt another gust of the cold, harsh wind on his back, and the blue disappeared into a fiery orange-red, and he heard more voices, whispering all at once in their own thousands of conversations, with a hidden crescendo that he could seldom make out. He looked around to try and find where they came from in the darkness, but found nothing.

When he turned back to face where he walked, he could at last clearly see what the light was: a simple fire, dancing its dance of life, bringing the only semblance of light into this infinite darkness. "Come and see..." the beast whispered once more, stepping aside and allowing Hectaros to stride forth to the fire. He gazed in, but he could only make out the dancing flames of this blaze. "What is it? I cannot see what you want me to see..." The whispering grew ever louder, unnerving the soldier. "You do not see? You will... soon..." the beast whispered, its calm, friendly smile unchanging as it spoke. The whispering grew louder and louder, shriller and shriller, and it left Hectaros afraid. "What must I see?" he asked again, turning to the creature. "You will see..." it said, still smiling, as it faded into the darkness.

Hectaros awoke in a sweat, breathing heavily to the rhythm of the building's alarm. "Was that...? It was just a dream... just a dream," he thought, rising quickly from the bed and grabbing his "uniform," as it was called. Dressing quickly, he grabbed his armor and hastily threw it over his body, not yet bothering to strap it together with the many belts and loops it had. He fastened his helmet to his head and threw his sword's belt and sheathe over himself and he carried his shield, with the darts clipped to its back, in his hand as he ran outside to join the others. As he ran along, all he could wonder was why everyone was being awoken so early; obviously there was trouble, but this foreign land left him unknowing as to what that trouble could be.

He was still groggy and in a daze, having barely gotten more than a few hours rest. The leaders of the group explained the situation, but he didn't understand much besides the fact that people were dying. There was no time to ask questions; just as quickly as everyone had arrived to the lobby, they were beckoned outside into "trucks," as they were called; Hectaros, although estranged by them, didn't bother to question what they were. He had to prepare for what was coming. As was custom to the Eteridone, he prayed throughout the trip to the Carnival, for himself, for his new companions, and for whatever foe he may face.

There wasn't time to think. The legionary had been mustered along with a few others into a tent where monstrous men with impressive weapons were. The first few before them didn't take long to notice the group of newcomers, and these brutes advanced quickly toward them while they were still separated. The viking was near him, but the two were quickly separated, a pair of brutish men standing between them. The one before Hectaros was massive, standing nearly seven feet tall, wearing pitiful armor and wielding a massive two-handed ax. This was not the type of man the legionary was used to facing; he'd spent his whole years warring in eastern, desert lands where shortish men on horseback fought the legions, not in the northwest where he knew beasts like this man had existed. He would have to act with his mind to put down this monster. The lacking armor and the brute's savagery gave Hectaros an idea.

The two faced each other down as time seemed to come to a stand-still; they moved in a circle around each other, staring, waiting for the first to make his move. Hectaros knew the barbaric man wouldn't wait; people like him always longed for a fight. He spun his sword in his hand and struck the flat of it against his shield, enticing the brute to charge him. If he took a hit, even to the shield, he might as well have been done for. So, he let the barbarian come near, and just before the two made contact, he swiftly dodged out of the way, leaving the barbarian stumbling a bit away. "Come on, you tedolre, is that the best that you got?" he taunted, keeping his shield pointed toward the enraged man. If he could keep the man going for him, he could tire him out. Once he fell tired, he could go for the kill. He struck his shield again.

The barbarian did not charge him again.

Hectaros kept up his guard, waiting, watching the brute's every move. The two were locked in a match of nerves again, seeing who would break first and attack - the calm, professional legionary, or the raging, savage beast? Hectaros would not allow himself to fall into such a trap. He struck his shield again, and again, and again, louder, and louder, and louder, faster, and faster, and faster. The savage before him grew angrier with each thundering strike, seemingly wanting to rip Hectaros' head clean off with his own hands. Another strike. And another. And another.

The barbarian would have no more.

Roaring at the legionary who dared defy his own death, the madman charged again, ax held overhead, swiftly closing the distance between the two men. Hectaros allowed him to near, sidestepping to the left as the man's ax came down into the muddied earth and driving his sword upward into the man's fleshy side, just below his ribs. Just as quickly as he'd stabbed the man, he retracted his sword, now stained in the fresh, bright-red blood of the wounded man, and struck him in the back with the boss of his shield, pushing him into the ground. He wasn't dead, but his wounds were grave, giving him no hope of recovery. The soldier, standing triumphant before him, did not have time to grant him the mercy of a quick death; the man known as Septimus had called for a shield wall in regard to the growing number of the brutes, and the legionary happily obliged, going to the man's side and joining the formation.

by **Saldinado** » Sat Mar 18, 2017 10:32 pm

Henry

The sudden blaring of the alarms have done their job of awaking Henry who was in a deep sleep due to being exhausted from the meeting the evening before. Rising out of his bed in a cold sweat with his heart beating fast enough that it could have replaced the alarms themselves given the loudness and intensity of their palpitations. Getting out of bed, he made his way down towards where everyone else was, wearing only his black v-neck t-shirt with white and blue striped pajama bottoms, his glasses and a pair of shoes; hair unkempt and all over the place and still in a state of sleepiness but he didn't have time to get completely ready as the situation of their...situation was unknown and dire. But this was all that he needed to be prepared as everything else was either in his mental or physical state.
Looking around the hallways he say that there was little to nobody there around him causing him to get more worried as he ran towards the Lobby with rather quick speed due to his extensive exercise training where he saw the others and listened to the radio where the Carnival of sorts have proven to have drastic results that have resulted in the deaths of numerous others. Mentally preparing himself for what was to come, Henry grunted as his heart was still beating faster than normal due to the alarm and the pushing through the tents have made his eyes feast upon a sight that nobody wanted to see.

That sight. That image that appeared right before his very own eyes. This site was a sight that would be seared inside his head for as long as he lived. The fire and fumes filled the air as he stood there shocked at the sight as his eyes were fixated and lit up from the infernos. And to think that this was the extent of this catastrophe. Nothing could top this sight, right? No, it couldn't. Nothing couldn't. This was at its height of things that would remain to him as well as others to be an unforgettable moment. There's nothing that can top this.

However that soon proved to be wrong.

Looking into the sky, his eyes widened as he saw the large plane come flying closer and closer to the ground. Until the loudness of the crash made him wince and shield his eyes from the intensity of the blast as he could feel the heat of the fire and the constant feeling of dirt and debris fall upon him. Looking up, he watched the blaze engulf the area before hearing the loud and commanding tone of Gio fill the cold and dark air along with the others that ran towards the sight of the crash and pulled himself together. This what he was trained to do. This is what he was suppose to do; to help and save, at all costs. This would prove to him as well as the others whether they let a person live or die on their watch.
The smell of burning flesh filled his nose along with smoke and soot. Grunting to himself, he ran towards the sight of the crash where he found the lifeless bodies of the passengers upon the plane ignoring them and making his way towards an area that was less affected and saw that there was a woman laying in a grassy patch on the ground. She appeared to have her leg pinned under a large piece of debris that came from the aircraft itself. Running over towards them as he was starting to sweat due to the heat, Henry made his way towards the two where he knelt down in front of the man and talked to him softly and comfortingly as her cries filled the air.

"It's alright, it's alright. I'm here for you. I'm not leaving you. I'm not. I got you. I'm here to help." His hushed voiced and his leaning in to hold her hand comforted her for a little bit before she spoke to him and he nodded. "Okay. I'm on it right away; just hold on. I'm not going anywhere. We're going to help you." Getting up from the ground he quickly ran to where the debris that pinned her was and knelt down and grabbed it where he mentally and physically prepared himself. Comforting her once again, Henry squatted lower as he used his leg muscles to lift up the heavy piece of metal and slowly but surely lifted it off of her and now used his upper body strength to get underneath it and lean it against his back. All the while he kept talking to the lady as her cries continued, albeit softer and weaker. "A...Almost...there!" And with a loud grunt, he pushed his body upwards and pushed the piece of debris off of her as it landed behind him.
But there was no time to relax. The smell of fuel filled his nose and with the flames nearby, things needed to be quickened. Leaning down he comforted her some more and asked if her back was okay, for which she replied with a nod and attempt at getting up on her own, only to become weak and lay back down on the ground. "Hold on...I'll help you. Just remain still and I'll get you out ma'am."

Getting up quickly, Henry placed his arms under her legs and back and calmed her down some more before counting out loud from three and suddenly lifting her up. With a small wince, she soon wrapped her arms around his neck as he turned and walked away from the wreckage with a survivor in hand. The sight of the other bodies along with the combat from the others with the roaring sound of the fire behind them filled their ears and their lungs as they walked away. "Please. Breath into my shirt. So you don't breath in too much of this smoke." And with a small nod she took the bottom of his shirt and brought it up to her nose and mouth. The sudden coolness mixed with the heat of the crash touched his stomach as he quickly yet carefully made his way from the wreak and towards the safe zones. Setting her down with the ones that were examining the others, Henry smiled at her and nodded as she weakly thanked him before one of the medics came over to evaluate her.

"Alright. Now we do it all over again." He said to himself as he jogged from the safe point and back towards the crash site to start the process all over again. And all the while, his heart continued to beat quickly, forgetting to slow down at its normal pace due to the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

And it's only fucking 4 AM too?! This is going to be a long night indeed.

by **Tiltjuice** » Sun Mar 19, 2017 12:01 am

Story - Beware the Ides of March
Char - Luce

There was a reason he had not been called on as a fighter for either Time or Fate. For all that the Roman Empire had endowed him with all its legendary military training, he had been strictly a garrison centurion in the peaceful North African province. All of his skills in combat, therefore, came from his re-training with Chrys, and Dora, and the rest. But his mind remained sharp, as it would have to be to avoid meeting other sharp objects. The whistle of the blade passing overhead was a far cry to the cornicen's military bugle sounding the morning reveille. The early hour proved nothing to him; staging surprise drills every so often to keep the tesserarius on task had meant burning the midnight oil.

The attacker recoiled at the sudden appearance of catlike yellow eyes. Regaining himself, he brandished his curved axe and roared something loud and incomprehensible. The tone spoke for itself, though, and so did the brutish man's charge. Lacking a shield and unarmed, no doubt Luce was considered easy prey to the other's battleaxe and shield; and the Luce of old would have been, without a pilum or even a pugio. Catlike eyes belied the nature he'd adopted, when suitably roused; it had been Chrys the animal lover who'd remarked on it and Dora the spirited who'd made the sobriquet stick. And so he played, much as Hectaros did, but more swiftly and less lethally.

A sidewise roll carried him out from under the diagonal slicing of the falling axe - though it came within a corncob's width of his rising ankles - and then both men blinked, once, twice, like the back-and-forth flutter of a moth's wings. Another roll forward, unseen in the night and unheard amidst the mud, and suddenly the barbarian was on his knees, without a clue as to how he'd gotten there. Not that it mattered for very long. Luce's arms snapped around him in a chokehold. The barbarian's hands flew to his neck in the barest beginnings of an attempt to free himself.

Then the pain hit, and he screamed just as incoherently as he had before; but with a much wider mouth. That tended to happen when one's battleaxe was physically fused to one's charbroiled hand.

Luce breathed out and stood, his sleeves dripping blood. A snap of his fingers had the man frozen in mid-yell.

Story - Feld des Todes
Char - Mathias

Mathias' jaw dropped and he tried to think about what to do. The fuzzy being had dashed right in, and so had the rougher-looking woman. Right. And the little girl was making paper birds. Right. Perfectly normal. Perfectly normal. At least he didn't have an aversion to blood. But what could he do without his needles? He'd left those and the poultices he'd made the night before in the Building amidst the sudden rush! Only his hood remained and and and...

That was it! Some of the nomads of Ticaret had a fire in their camp once! Didn't, hadn't they used their headdresses as a screen? There was something else they'd done....A loud wailing across the way had him moving by pure instinct as he ran and wrapped the hood over his nose and mouth. Getting into the half of the fuselage with the survivors still strapped in their seats, he knelt in the closest row and began unfastening seat belts. Seeing what he was doing, a stewardess ran up and helped in the other sections.

"Go, go, that way if you can!" he called out, picking up a pair of children, one in each arm. "Over here! Help!"

Story - Charlie's Angels
Char - Calani

"I wish I could have had my beauty sleep, too," Calani said, rubbing her face ruefully with her non-cannon-wielding hand. The oversized handgun looked flatout ludicrous in her thinner, nail-polished hand. If she'd been a man, inevitably someone would have accused her of compensating for something.

"We'll do what we can. Right?" Her gray eyes surveyed the others of their little group.

by **Highfort** » Sun Mar 19, 2017 1:45 am

Story: Beware the Ides of March
Char: Septimus

Luce's little display of inhuman skill both impressed and repulsed the cyborg. A nervous pulse flowed through him - the silent screams and confused terror of the Brutes reminded Septimus far too much of the old life - of the late nights spent in basements observing the squirming of worthless worms and traitors and bending them as far as their bodies and minds would allow. Usually, the latter gave in before the former, and here was no exception. It was an exercise in brutal finesse, if such a thing could exist.

Turning to Mezran and Hectaros, he replied to the Klingon's gruff demand, "We can't take them all by ourselves, we'll get overwhelmed - and tired... A battle line - a shield wall, like they used to talk about in Terran history... That would do it, I think. We can group up in a square to prevent flanking and thin them out."

The ambassador took his own advice and raised his shield to cover his chest and torso, his shortened pike sticking out from above to the side. A rather aggressive and probably less-intelligent Brute decided to approach him head on and found himself in a push-and-pull with the cyborg, their shields and arms cracking together as they leaned into each other and pushed for dominance.

Septimus slowly pulled back. The barbarian mirrored him for a moment, raising his club to land several hard thwacks! on his shield. Septimus grunted - his shoulder would definitely be feeling it in the morning.

Back to the push-and-pull. His foot nearly slipped, regaining footing with an awkward shrug as he ceded ground. A slip in this mud would be the end of him. The Brute seemed to stumble forward, confused as Septimus gave him more room.

He brought down the spear, and the barbarian recoiled back as it glanced him. Another stab, and another. They disengaged. Time to finish this while he had the opening.

Before the Brute could react, Septimus' processor informed him of the moment and the cyborg seized it. Lunging forward, he planted the spear between the man's ribs before yanking it back as the sputtering giant collapsed in a crumpled heap.

Letting out a heavy breath, he wiped the sweat from his forehead before taking up his stance again, "Link up, we'll use our shields to cover each other."

by **Chedastan** » Sun Mar 19, 2017 2:28 am

Nivea
Charlie's Angels

Nivea spent much of her night after being in the Belas' Apartment trying to sleep soundly after having spent some time with Amanda, but she had grown rather restlessly troubled by the description of the Lawyer's flashbacks given to her. And combined with how off her sleep schedule currently was from having spent a life before living underground with no sun, she only managed to get a mere few hours of rest in before the Building's alarm came on and abruptly woke her up.

Groggy from having her rest interrupted and having been slightly hungover from the Belas' fancy wines, she stumbled out of bed to quickly get her clothes on. Her mind did eventually sober up once she gotten to getting a pair of pants and boots on, and she realized that this was it, this was the big thing that was inevitably coming her way since she arrived here hardly even a few days ago. A crisis of sorts must've arrived that called for the Residents, her gut heavily doubted this was any kind of drill.

Slipping on a tank top without even knowing what the article of clothing was, and grabbing a spare warm coat to come along, a thought occurred to her that she needed something to defend herself with, but she needed to be downstairs as soon as possible! Without a moment more to think, she quickly grabbed one of her knives from off a table, a snuck it in one of her boots. With that of the way and with Marcus' sunglasses on, she quickly left from her apartment and rushed downstairs. Her heart was pounding from the tension and fear of what they were heading towards, and her vision seemed to come to a blur as she was soon pressed into bodies of other Residents going in the same direction, and she was pleasantly surprised afterwards that she didn't end up getting trampled.

It seemed she had hardly much of any time to think or even react to what was going on around her, but by the time they've gotten outside of the Building, her vision became much more clearer by being comforted by the darkness outside. And she did managed to quickly gather from Minerva that apparently a number of nearby villagers had gotten themselves trapped in some sort of evil magical carnival, and they had to go in and rescue them. Of course the courier was both baffled and petrified by what was being told to them, but they were quickly hauled into vehicles that vaguely looked similarly to the buses that Amanda showed her earlier that night to the hellish carnival itself.

On their ride over, she chilling managed to witness as clear as day out the back of the truck and through the darkness of the crowd of terrified villagers they were passing through. Their harrowing faces managed to remind Nivea horrifically of the crowds of protesting citizens back in her city, retreating in fear of the Inquisition marching towards them with their massive blades and cruel use of blinding torches. She can still remember fondly of when they raided a tenement building next door to hers for "Secularist Terrorists," and how they snuffed out innocent people in their homes using smoke from fires they've built outside. It was terror manifested, and now it seemed like they were about to head towards that same sort of terror themselves. She prayed for A'thena to guide her, and hoped to Demens to not disappoint him in the face of evil.

Once the trucks stopped, it seemed like they had entered a special kind of chaotic hell already. The fires nearly blinded her from how bright they were before she put her sunglasses back on, and her nostrils were quickly filled with smoke and smoldering traces of ash. It reminded her of Ava's neighborhood..

Before she could reminisced Ava's and her Mother's alchemy shop get burnt and melted to the stone ground, Klaus had help to push her mind back into focus, quite literally in fact. He had quickly pushed her and others into the gaping maw of a tent, and Nivea then slowed her breath as they entered through. She knew that no matter what was waiting for them on the other side, she'll hold true and stand strong, as she was one of Demens' Chosen, so she'll be damn well sure to act like one, despite all she's been through, and what trials she had left to go.

Having gone through the tent and into a whole other strange world, nothing could've prepared Nivea for hearing gunshots for the first time in her life. Startled, she gave a yelp and took to getting cover behind some crates along with the others that were sent through too. She looked among who was in their group, and saw a man with pointy ears, Macy, Amanda, a very classy woman, and an odd looking femme man who was very talkative, or was it a bald lady? Nivea couldn't really tell what they were that well, at least not since she stopped being completely certain after she did deliverers to those pleasant folks at the Church of H'ermaphroditus.

About to ask what those loud pops and bangs were earlier, she was suddenly startled again by the appearance of stranger in the darkness, who Nivea could see rather well after he made his presence well known to them. As Charlie and Devine then talked one sidedly with the stranger at gunpoint, it still didn't seem like they had much of a clear picture of what was going on, as they had many details still left to fill. Though with how their odd man handled meeting Charlie, she could only guess that some details probably won't see the light of day by the time they were done here. Assuming they lived of course.

Still though it seemed like they ought to know about what was going on, like what even is this place exactly? Who's even out there making loud and violent noises? She then promptly took her knife out of her boot, and held it firm in her hand. She wasn't sure how useful her knife would be, but she was sure it was better than nothing at all. She turned towards Calani to nod at her when she said they'll do what they can, and she then followed behind Charlie as he took point, being right next to Devine as she did so.

"Um, Charlie right? Can you at least tell us what exactly this place is, and who's raiding your people?" She then asked the questions she wanted to get answered right away.

by **Stormwrath** » Sun Mar 19, 2017 9:19 am

C H A R L I E ' SA N G E L S
Character: Macy

SYS CHECK INITIATE...

POWER: 100.00%
LUBRICANT: 82%
BODY CTRLS: INTACT
PROCESSOR: INTACT
BOOTING...

Well, a robot like Macy didn't exactly need sleep, so she heard the intercoms loud and clear. What could be going on that necessitated everyone waking up at this hour? Unsure about what was going on, the robot bolted out of her bed, rushed to her closet, and began looking for her uniform. Hopefully it was in the place where she had placed it. Quickly fiddling her fingers through each and every one of her clothes like she was playing with the window blinds, she eventually found her uniform without much problem and tried to put it on as fast as possible. While the tank top and the button-up shirt came on nicely, she was clumsily hobbling around her bedroom while trying to get into her trousers.

But then the intercom wasn't going to wait for her. Again the announcement was made, and Macy unceremoniously tripped and fell onto the floor. As she got back up, she finally had her pants come on snuggly on her. Now she began to list down all the other things that she'd be needing to bring with her, which included her belt, her boots, her handgun, and her trusty dwarven sword. Sheathing her sword behind her back, the android burst out the door like everyone else and dashed down to the lobby—attempting to put on her belt as she ran. Yet she may have overlooked that the floor seemed to give way, and so she rolled down the stairs like a giant ball and landed on her butt. As she was about to get up, she saw a Resident of giant stature leap over her. Squealing, she quickly shifted her heinie off away from the stairs and towards a wall. Oh boy, that was close! Any inch more or less and I could've been scrap metal!

As she got on her feet, her feet picked up the pace again. Macy joined the others in rushing out of the Building and preparing for whatever mission that everyone was to do—something involving the Carnal Carnival returning and terrorizing people. But that wasn't the Carnal Carnival she was introduced to. She knew that it was a fun place that had bouncing clouds, underwater reefs, and flying about in giant bubbles. She didn't know that it also showed a hellish side to it as well, nor had she experienced its more malicious characteristics.

But regardless, the mission was urgent, and she knew she had to get there as soon as possible no matter how unknown the situation may be. Once the trucks had arrived at the Carnival, she got off the truck and tied her golden hair into a ponytail. As Macy turned her head in the direction of the Carnival, she wasn't quite sure what to make of that white light filling everything in front of her. Once she disabled her nightvision, she was given a sight that was even more distressing.

The Carnal Carnival's dark side.

What could possibly be under these tents? From the looks of it, Macy would soon find out the answers for herself. Following Amanda, Nivea, and some other Residents, she got into the flap and stepped into the darkness that awaited her. That darkness slowly gave way to the scene of thundering explosions and gunshots that rang through what looked like a seaport.

"Eeeek!" Macy frantically unsheathed her sword and quickly ducked with the others behind some crates, unsure of where those recent shots were fired from. There's no way I'm going to be full of holes as soon as I enter this tent!

Nightvision was back on, and like the others she was able to spot a certain figure nearby. Could this person be an enemy? Well, Devine seemed to think so, she thought. He wouldn't seem to lower his gun even as this Charlie introduced himself to him, and he wasn't likely to stop cussing anytime soon. Macy wished that he would calm down since his irritated tone might draw unwanted attention to the group.

"Yes," the android quickly shifted her gaze towards Calani, nodding in response. She had to do what she can, lest there may be lives that would have been saved.

by **Northwest Slobovia** » Sun Mar 19, 2017 4:16 pm

Charlie's Angels

"Ooohhh, my head!", Amanda moaned as Volker's voice blared from the intercom. Why the hell did he have to shout, and when the hell time in the morning was this?? She dragged herself upright, and flipped on the bedroom lights. She regretted that instantly, the light being unreasonably bright. She pressed her eyelids into a narrow squint. Amanda realized she was still in her underwear, apparently having been too drunk to get completely undressed. At least that simplified getting dressed again. Her skirt and blouse were on the floor, having never made it into the hamper. She redressed, and left the bedroom.

There seemed no time to root around Sandy's lab for another dose of the hangover cure, nor time to run down the the hospital to see what Ogoti could do for her. But last night's glasses were still in the sink, and water would help her head, right? She gulped down a tumbler full, and then scurried to the door. She strapped on her gun and pulled on her jacket -- she'd never taken anything out of the pockets, that might help -- and joined the crowd running for the stairs.

Klaus' and Minerva's description of the crisis sent a chill down her spine: dealing with broken magic was Sandy's department, not hers. But she'd do what she could, though she dreaded what nightmares twisted tents might come up with. She followed the others into the trucks. The darkness was better for her head than the Building's bright lights.

She took a deep breath and followed Nivea, Calani, and the other Residents into the tent, bracing herself for whatever she saw. At the first explosion, she took cover, and tried to figure out what was going on. A war zone? She drew her gun at sound of an unfamiliar voice in the darkness, then listened to the conversation. Details sunk in slowly: Edge of Tomorrow, and this was Tom Cruise's character, and... their group was being led by a jerk. Typical Resident planning.

So: they needed to find a group of "transgenics", some of whom were Burrows-dwellers, and get them out of a warehouse under fire. Amanda looked back in the direction they seemed to come from, looking for an obvious exit. How did they get out of a Carnival tent? Maybe she'd remember; that was two years ago, and she was still a bit foggy now.

Nivea asked a question, but it wasn't quite on the mark. She had another. "Charlie!" she whispered, "How many of you are there?" Another point came to mind, and another whisper. "I'm Amanda."

by **Mincaldenteans** » Sun Mar 19, 2017 4:36 pm

Charlie's Angels

"Raiding my people?" Charlie responded with confusion, this eyebrows furrowed to reflect as he shook his head, "No, my people are raiding the compound. We were tasked to free others like me. It failed."

Before he could say more, what little light the moon, the silhouettes of the lighting interior, and occasional spark of an explosion (don't forget those) gave seemed snuffed out and blanketed by darkness.

"This is where everything turned to shit," Charlie mumbled, his voice was cracking and it looked as though he was considering just running back into the darkness from whence he came until Devine huffed out and grabbed the transgenic by the collar.

"Get a fucking grip or so help me there will be a bullet with your name on it," the drag hissed. "Answer Amanda, how many of you are there? How many of them?"

Charlie pushed Devine's grip away with relative ease, something the drag queen said nothing about, "There's 15 of us; about 25 of them, possibly more, I can't recall exactly! The power outage is the second phase of the raid, we should be..."

Gun fire, closer than before, erupted from within the warehouse. Charlie moved a few feet ahead to get a look, his own vision wasn't hindered like most in the night and he could see his fellow transgenic already going in. "It was a trap. They've got X7s in the warehouse."

"Then we'll have to sneak past them while your imaginary friends do the distracting, so take point and get us going," Devine griped, taking the safety off from his gun.

Darkness loomed like a blanket and the explosions had been reduced muffled booms at a distance and only the familiar clacks of firefighting from the inside of the warehouse remained. Charlie took point, angling his rifle downward as he moved in precise movements, hugging the walls and areas that he deemed safe; the rest of the group would follow suit. Devine could barely make out the transgenic's shadowy figure as they moved and it was clear he was having trouble just seeing from the outside despite the moonlight. They managed quietly, but silence, however, was not the drag's strong suit and it would be only a few minutes before the man's commentary would start up again.

"Remind me when we get back to have a talk with Temir about some nightvision wear," he mumbled to Calani, although it was fairly certain the others could hear him.

Charlie raised his hand in a closed fist and Devine stopped in his tracks, knowing full well what it meant. The transgenic observed for a moment, lowering his hand back to the handle of his rifle. It looked pitched black from the inside and the trangenic seemed unfazed about that particular challenge. Charlie turned to them, gesturing with his head, "Three friendlies just went in, we have to move now."

by **Tiltjuice** » Sun Mar 19, 2017 4:49 pm

Charlie's Angels

"Oh, I will - night vision wear just isn't for me," Calani replied silkily, and turned the other way to watch. It really wasn't; she felt as if all she could do was be an eye-catcher for the group, even in the Chosen uniform and even about to run into a pitch black warehouse she'd just blend into. At least the fabric was soft.

The walls closed in around them as the group padded inside, Calani standing off to the side so as not to get in anyone's way. She'd lowered the massive borrowed pistol into a more comfortable grip in both hands, down in front of her, and was content to check the backlit entrance behind them. A puff of flame erupted into view, some distance behind the double doors; she dropped the Desert Eagle in surprise, and swore as she dove for it. She managed to get there before the piece could hit the concrete and make a noise, or worse, slide away into the darkness; but it smacked her hand into the floor and she yelped in pain.

Immediately, two figures wheeled around each side of the T of the hallway in front of them and opened fire.

"X7!" Charlie shouted, no point in keeping quiet now. He took cover and pointed right. "That way, keep your heads up!"

by **Chedastan** » Tue Mar 21, 2017 12:03 am

Charlie's Angels

The courier had quickly grown to feel rather uncertain about Charlie as they progressed through the warehouse, as he seemed more than ready to head off over there to his people without their group coming in with him to help, though she supposed she could hardly blame the man given the circumstances. In fact she was really growing more concerned over the odd man with the gun next to her that had been constantly pointing that thing at Charlie, and being as overly loud as ever.

It seemed like it would be wise if Nivea at least told the odd man to knock it off before he either fired that thing off and give their position away, and or potentially shoot Charlie dead because his fingers slipped. But she almost didn't want to try and say anything in fear that the man would then point his gun at her. But weren't they both Chosen? Surely he wouldn't dare?

As she contemplated what to even whisper to the odd man as they continued to make their way through the dingy warehouse, she could see pretty far ahead as to where they heading, thanks to her eyes. Or at least as far as she can with them due to how the grimy hallways were laid out. She smiled at the fact that most of their group didn't seem to be able to see in the dark as well as her, being amused that she at least had that going for her while she lacked any extraordinary weapon on here, and furthermore, she was able to keep up with Charlie quite easily.

But she then noticed that the man she has been following then raised his hand, and promptly told them that three of his own people had just went in and they had move now. Her grip on her knife got tighter, she still wasn't too sure of what exactly they were going to face, as she had no idea what a 'X7' was, but she could imagine they must be quite formidable and would give a typical inquisitor a run for their money.

As they kept preceding cautiously through a hallway, Nivea then heard a loud thud behind her, it was the girl that was given a gun! Suddenly fearing for what might had heard that fumbling sound, her fears were quickly met as two armed figures then came into view in the hallway ahead of them. And they were quick to start firing at them with loud clacks and bangs! Nivea was quick to follow Charlie's lead to avoid getting hit, and promptly kept her head down as suggested as she followed him. She tried her cool as best she can, knowing it would be unwise to charge at foes equipped with range weapons head on, but it was already very shocking to her to say the least.

by **Vanquaria** » Tue Mar 21, 2017 3:44 am

Charlie's Angels

At last it was time to get to work.

Since his successful induction into the Building Feniel had managed overcome his awe and excitement. His mind having grasped most of the fundamental bits of information that a Resident was required to understand the Elvin warrior looked forward to the promised difficult training regimes his guide had promised in the Demen’s Chosen. Feniel had found his personal room to be incredibly appealing to him and soon had comfortably settled himself in his new surroundings.

Now a piercing, loud sound abruptly attacked his ears. Originating in a place of swords and arrows Feniel was no stranger to being forced awake suddenly, especially in the most uncomfortable places of rest, and his training took over. Arming himself within moments he exited his suite, helmet and odachi in hand. Arriving in the Lobby he was in time for the briefing. Adrenaline was already being pumped inside of him as his mind processed what was told.

Finding himself whisked away to another strange place Feniel wisely chose to stay close with his group of fellow Residents. He personally had never met any of his teammates before and this caused him to seriously doubt whether this mission would be successful. Clenching his teeth he cast away such thoughts and looked upwards for a second, finding solace in the belief that benevolent great powers watched over them. Keeping his blade sheathed and donning his Elvin war helmet he entered through a mere tent into another a large storage building. Then he found himself under attack, this time from ominous figures beyond his group in the enclosed hallway.

They are attacking us with some sort of ranged weapon. I don’t have anything against that, I must seek cover and rely on the others to eliminate them.

For the first time in this new world beads of sweat broke out. The all-too familiar feeling of fear made itself known to Feniel. His grip on his mystical blade tightened.

This form of warfare is new to me… yet regardless of that, I’ll have to force myself to adapt to this combat situation! There was a reason why I was selected to do this… I will accomplish this mission!

Feniel prepared himself, muscles tensed and mind pumped, intending to take position close to lead after those two enemies they currently faced were taken care of. He could not keep himself back, he had to do make use of his expertise for the sake of this mission.

by **Northwest Slobovia** » Tue Mar 21, 2017 2:48 pm

Charlie's Angels

The safety on Amanda's gun snicked as she released it, taking the hint from Devine. She held her gun two-handed, pointing it down as she brought up the rear. Amanda tried to keep an eye on Charlie, stepping where he stepped in the hope that what was safe for him was still safe a few seconds later. Occasionally, she turned to check behind her, both to see if they were being followed and to try to remember the route back to the entrance.

Tiltjuice wrote:[I]t smacked her hand into the floor and she yelped in pain. [...] Immediately, two figures wheeled around each side of the T of the hallway in front of them and opened fire.

"Shit!" Amanda wasn't thinking the fastest, but getting out of the line of fire was always the right idea, and she crouched next to Charlie. Go down the corridor? Well, if that's what he wanted... Amanda ran her eyes along the distance between where she was and the corridor mouth, trying to figure out how to take advantage of what concealment there was.

She turned to Charlie and hissed, "Cover me!" and dashed for the first thing to hide behind on the way, and then the next, until she was safely out of the X7s' sight in the corridor. She then pressed herself up against the corridor wall closer to them, right behind the corner, returning her gun to a two-handed ready, and took a second to think.

She realized she should have done that first: while she was in a good place to either shoot at the X7s or run down the corridor, she had no idea which was a better idea. "Charlie!" A stage whisper: she just needed to avoid the X7s hearing her. "What's down this way? What can the X7s do? Just shoot, or do they have other abilities? Quickly, please! We need a plan!"

by **Cerillium** » Tue Mar 21, 2017 4:11 pm

Feld des Todes

One Resident stood on the hill, just inside the tent flap. He wasn't much to look at. He still bore his black cultist uniform and gas mask. Though he was a Youth, memories of his time during the War still occupied a large portion of his psyche. Tears stung his eye's edges, though the mask prevented him from wiping them away.

What can I do? I'm insignificant. John's lips curled into a snarl. He wasn't Hans, or even Rudolph. They could summon confetti to blanket the fire. They could turn grass blades into silly string that grabbed people and carried them down to safety. He barely had a handle on shadow travel. This is too heavy. I can't- He began to sob.

The severity of the wreckage was clear from his vantage point. Two sections, one intact but threatened by toxic fumes and creeping fuel, and the other a snarl of crumpled airplane parts and twisted bodies, rested perhaps thirty feet apart. The nose was gone. The wings, still attached to the destroyed front half, bled the plane's blood onto the ground. Baggage and scrap littered the plane's morbid path. Flames threatened to consume the lot of them.

Some, like Insidious, had gone for those scattered about the ground. Others, like Mathias and Giovenith, focused on the tail. And others, like Thaddeus and Henry, risked fumes in the front. The Jedi stood out, his purple fur glistening in the morning sun.

John's tears abated, and he lifted the mask to wipe snot from his face before securing the device in place once more. They were doing things. Henry and Mathais weren't supernatural. They risked it all. So should he, though doing so would place him directly back to his own moment of death.

Jetzt fängt das schöne Frühjahr an
und alles fängt zu blühen an
auf grüner Heide und überall.

His mind clung to the nonsense children's song as his feet pounded the earth in cadence to its tune as he ran down the hill. He willed the song to be so, though it was nothing as extraordinary as a fully fledged cultist could pull off. The grasses under Cecile's feet grew softer, tender shoots pushing up from the ground to cushion her patients. Small flowers dotted the earth, offering sweet fragrance to soothe them.

He watched the paper bird flock swarm the fuselage. The creatures startled some of the passengers, though most were too stunned to notice them and, instead, sat stupidly in their seats as the creatures sliced through their belts and bound themselves to their wounds. Heat threatened to overwhelm flock, survivors, and rescuers.

The flames suddenly receded. Thaddeus paused in his effort to liberate an elderly man from under overhead compartment debris. Internal environmental alarms whispered of pocket formations, the insides of which seemed devoid of oxygen. What sort of magic was this? His eyes and other sensors swept over the field and finally located the tiny Jedi standing with face pinched in concentration. He risked breaking it. "Don't let go, Maghrl. Your bubble bursts, we'll have backdraft!" He'd been through enough industrial accidents in his lifetime to have experienced the horrors presented when someone opened a window on a starved fire.

Thaddeus batted away more luggage and finally lifted the man over a shoulder. The slide was crowded. He chose to jump and allow his legs to absorb the shock. Someone established a clearing, though he didn't know who.

"Here, rest now," the cyborg rumbled to the old man as he lowered him for Cecile to triage. "Trust this woman. She's here to help."

His eyes briefly met Cecile's. "We don't have enough supplies. We don't have anything." A new, more horrible thought struck him. "We don't even know which person is illusion and which is a real. Fuck these tents."

He rose and turned towards the wreckage, leaving Cecile the insurmountable task of soothing frightened and wounded people.

Many passengers in the tail section were mobile, much to his relief. This allowed his neighbors to focus on the ones closer to the exposed portion - the ones still strapped in their seats and staring forward into an empty field. Their companions and family members had been only a few rows up. They were gone. He growled at their cruel fate and stepped aside as Henry brought a woman to the clearing.

"Giovenith! Paper! We need as much as you can spare for bandages!" his deep voice, unnatural in volume, rose over the din. But could she make more than birds? "Splints! Blankets for the ones in shock."

He didn't wait for the Godling's response. She proved herself time and time again over the years - let her work her magic. He paused to address a familiar man. What did Amanda say his name was? "Henry, is it? The front half still has people in it. Fuel's leaking from the wings. I'll wade into the toxic parts to bring survivors to you, if you can carry them back here? My respiratory system can handle it."

There was no need to wait for Henry to nod. The old cyborg set off at a run, then used his arms to curl himself upward to scramble onto what remained of the cabin's deck.

His cybernetic eyes shifted spectrum to seek out bodies. Most in this section were dead, or on the cusp of it. A few rolled their heads and wheezed as he approached. He emerged at the edge of the opening moments later to lower a severely burnt child to Henry. "Mind his arm." Small talk - Henry could see the extent of damage himself.

"Here!" A young man clad in a Nazi uniform stripped off his helmet and threw it aside. "Give him to me, Herr Lawson. Take my mask! I'm dead. I don't need it. We'll- we'll team up for the bigger people." His arms stretched forward to cradle the victim, and then he bowed his head so Henry could remove the mask for his own use.

A young child, still strapped in her seat in the middle of the field, gazed at Insidious. Frightened eyes slowly blinked as a tiny hand tightly curled around one of her fingers.

Relax, do not panic, stay awake The Luxan's command stripped away some of the fear but did not stop the little girl's other emotions from boiling over.

A snapshot of memory, the sound of a woman's laughter suddenly stifled by a horrible and jarring bump. The whine of engines, and the momentary sensation of freefall before force pressed the spine into the back of the seat.

"Place your hands over the back of your head! Lean forward! Lean forward!" The flight attendant's urgent pleadings frightened the little girl.

"I'm here, baby." Her mother's arms came to rest atop her. Fear nested in the woman's voice. Fear, and love. "I'm here. Be a good girl."

A bump snapped the child's teeth together, finally knocking free the one that had been loose and ready to come out. Her world turned red, then black, and then she knew her soul was flying to heaven. Her mother was with her, the adult's own mouth twisted into the horrible shape of an O. The arms no longer rested on her child. They clutched at the chair's arm instead. She spun, and the girl could only see the loose tray on the chair's back slap open and shut over and over as her mother cartwheeled across the summer flowers.

The child's gaze bored into Insidious own eyes. The Luxan was an angel with skin swirling and dancing in the morning light. Angels heard prayers and took them to God, didn't they?

Please. Please. Mommy. I want my mommy. The grip on Insidious' finger intensified. The shock was quickly wearing off and the girl's sorrow mingled with the rising agony from shattered legs.

Mathias' voice snapped the flight attendants' minds back into focus. A woman stepped forward to heft the children onto her own hip. "Thank you," she murmured, though they weren't her own offspring.

"This way, don't run," the uniformed attendant wiped blood-streaked black hair from her cheek. "Leave your things. Everyone go down the slide. People at the bottom will help you." Her voice became a calming mantra as each passenger in turn seated themselves on the billowing yellow plastic to make a hasty escape.

The naturalist's own demeanor eased people back to reality. Row by row, passengers exited, some in worse states than others, cuing in as Mathias rendered assistance.

A wizened, dark-hued hand stretched out and settled on Mathias' arm. "What happened to my husband? Where he at?" The wrinkled woman, bowed by age and sorrow, tipped her chin up to reveal a pained expression.

by **Mincaldenteans** » Tue Mar 21, 2017 4:28 pm

Charlie's Angels

The X7s had fired burst shots, their eyes were seeing plainly in the dark and for that alone the group could count themselves lucky that no one was hit. Yet, anyway. As soon as the group had moved, so did the transgenic guards, although they moved as one and neither X7s seemed worried that their intruders were going deeper, or further, away from them. Devine had followed Charlie's instructions, but in the cover of darkness where silhouettes were barely visible, he only hoped it was the right direction.

A second burst round of deliberate fire peppered the corridor they were in, the shots didn't go wild, but it had its effect. Sparks flew and for a few very precious moments, the gunfire illuminated the passageway to barren shelves and haphazard containers and barrels strewn at across. Metal grating and walls were the covered them and anyone taking notice for that split moment would unlikely be able to get a clear picture past a fleeting image.

Charlie had returned fire, but he wasn't aiming as he should have, nor did he seem inclined to care, "Keep moving! The rest of villagers should be with the other captives. End of the hall!"

"What the fuck do you mean 'end of the hall'? I don't see shit!" Devine demanded and let loose two rounds of what Calani called hand-cannons. He was sure it didn't hit a damn thing and the return fire confirmed it by the same two riflemen. He ducked down instinctively as to avoid getting hit, but what good was it when he couldn't see what or whom they were aiming at?

"Down the passageway, make another right, double doors at the end. I'll cover you, but you gotta go!" Charlie urged. He took aim as the X7s continued to close the distance in wide and sure steps.

The blunt and thick sound of metal against flesh staggered Charlie forward, the X5 gripped his abdomen with one hand and unleashed a salvo with the other before a second bullet took his left shoulder. The transgenic stumbled back, crashing into something and before Devine could register what that was exactly, his body reacted the only way one knew when they were in a heap of confused bullshit: he moved! He grabbed Calani's arm, or at least he hoped it was Calani, and pulled her with him, stomping through the corridor loudly under his boots. The drag queen noted Amanda and Nivea close by though the elf was behind them still. Well, someone's got a death wish, thought Devine, but fuck all if it was going to be his or Calani's time!

"Let's go perras, we need to get the fuck on outta here!"

"Go!" Charlie shouted at Feniel as he sat crumpled against a set of empty crate and barrels, the left side of his torso and shoulder bleeding profusely. Wincing with effort, he released the semi-auto fire of his rifle and jerked his head to where Devine and the girls were headed, "Get our people out of here."

He didn't say anything more, staring back into the darkness where the X7s still advanced upon them and opened fire. The aim was sloppy, but the X5 was losing focus, and in return came a few more slugs that minced its way through his body. For all their genetic engineering, they weren't immortal.

Charlie's last breath came with a comforting thought that he took out one of his 'brothers', and the other likely wouldn't get away as he unhooked the pin of his grenade and rolled it toward the remaining X7.

At least his nightmare was over.

by **Cerillium** » Tue Mar 21, 2017 5:36 pm

Beware the Ides of March

[ooc: Oops. Sorry Swith. Posting for Marcus:]

The hauberk's metallic cackle caught Marcus' ear and he pivoted to ward off a heavy blow. His weapon was unless in his untrained hand. His foe's sword skirted down his blade to strike his cybernetic arm, marring the filigree so carefully etched upon its surface. The young priest grimaced as he slipped in the mud. Momentum carried the warrior forward. An opening! Marcus' knee slipped between thighs, the plasteel cap connecting with unprotected scrotum to shatter the testicles within. The larger man lurched forward, draping heavily over him, and vomited his meal down the cyborg's back.

"Fuck you." He twisted and his foe fell. Augmented hand joined its organic twin to grasp the sword's hilt. He put his might into it, driving the blade through the man's chest. It cleaved the sternum to slice the heart before biting into the cold earth beneath him.

"AAARRRRRRAAAA!"

The priest's head snapped up as an new foe pressed forward. "Yeah, fuck you, too," he muttered before reversing his handhold to draw the blade. "Bring it, bitch!"

tug

"Shit."

tug

Marcus whined at his own stupidity. His foe, in death, mocked his own efforts to live. Bone refused to release steel. Fingers opened wide to release the hilt, and he brought the augmented arm to bore as the sword swept in from the side. A throaty grunt parted his lips as the warrior's blade connected with tempered alloy. He slipped backward, dodging a swing from his foe's empty hand, feet sliding as he fought to keep his perch. Marcus summoned a phlegm bolus in retort. The spittle splattered the warrior's eye though he shrugged off the offense.

Sweat's musky perfume assaulted Marcus' nostrils as the warrior raised the weapon to strike him down. The electopriest marshaled the desire to power up defenses - the ground too wet for such tactics, and his companions far too close to avoid his wrathful deliverance. Marcus recoiled, muscles and mechanics tensing in unison before throttling him forward to put a shoulder into the warrior. The larger man cried out, his arm trapped at his side as the cyborg piled into him. A sickly snap twisted Marcus' mouth into a savage sneer. His reinforced collar bone easily shattered the warrior's arm.

Another pivot and a swipe settled the dropped sword's hilt into Marcus' hands, though this new weapon was far too unwieldy for him to lift. Useless due to his organic weakness, the sword fell back to earth.

The warrior had turned to cradle the hand and wrist which now swung limply from the arm. Marcus plowed into his side, catching him off balance. They toppled to the ground and rolled until the priest sensed his back depart from the mud. He raised his torso and thrust his arm forward. The skull's think bone cracked under the metallic knuckles' blow, shattering to allow the extremity to pass through tissue. The man twitched as Marcus extracted his hand, and then the body grew still.

"Myra, Sig, Mez, Hectaros, Luce: Regroup, quickly, with shields!"

Thanks, Dad. Way to remember your own son.

Marcus couldn't fault the man's strategy however. He cast his eyes about and found a suitable shield before trotting a few feet to join the group.

It was then that he realized how outclassed he truly was. Sigtrygg and two other warriors - these obviously Residents - dwarfed his father and Myra. Mezran's bluster set him apart. The Klingon exuded a battle lust that challenged the entire field to partake in violent death. Even the Conservator seemed to bear the composure of a veteran. There was no way to compete with that bravado. But Marcus wasn't a warrior.

"Used correctly, terrain is a second weapon in your arsenal. Make the battlefield work for you, or you will find it working for your opponent," the priest calmly quoted a passage from a holy text. "We need to find a defensible position, something that channels them and limits approach to a few men at a time." He put his trust in his companions, and took his eyes from the encroaching enemy in order to survey the landscape around them.

by **Ganonsyoni** » Tue Mar 21, 2017 6:53 pm

OPERATION: LAST CHANCE
DIMENSION: 4590K
LOCATION: En Route to Xo'Lokkako via HZ shuttle, Vim System, HZSC space
TEAMS: SECRET OMEGA TENTACLE

Kale looked around as Remilia shot through the door, announcing the unexpected guest to the crew. Right behind her was Romulus and the guest, a Skritarii who looked very injured. Kale had a look of surprise, not expecting a Skritarii to be on board. But she was handling it a lot better than Venla, who was growling like a mother bear defending her cubs. In fact, she was sort of scared more by venla than the skritter, who looked like they could fall over at any second now.

"Whoa, hold on people!" Kale said in a surprised and rushed yell, trying to subdue the situation before it got violent, "Calm down! No need for claws and fungus!" She turned to Venla,trying to look calm to her. "Venla, calm yourself please! I don't think this skritter can do anything to harm us. Romulus is right beside them. If they tried anything bad they wouldn't be walking. Romulus knows when and how to handle these things," she said in a reassuring and calming tone. She had no experience in how to calm a sapient badger-bear-fungus being, but she hoped it was similar to humans. She looked to Romulus, who had a much more calm but austere look to him. She trusted that he would deal or have dealt with the skritarii if they intended to do anything bad to them or the ship.

She the looked back to Remilia, calmer but expecting answers. "Remmy, can you tell us who this skritter is and why they are on the ship? They don't look harmful but...." she said, shooting glances at Venla with her eyes "I think we should know their reasons and intentions first." Hopefully knowing all this would calm Venla down. The skritter looked too injured to do anything, and she felt that they intended to do nothing. It just looked hurt and scared and she felt bad for it. Especially after all that happened. Traumatizing to say the least.

by **Truth Incarnate** » Tue Mar 21, 2017 7:05 pm

Feld Des Todes

Cecile looked up from the man in front of her, unconscious, but thankfully safe from death. The choking fumes from that blazing pile of aluminium and jet fuel filled the air. Her eyes stung, watery and filled with soot. She caught sight of the huge "man" she'd met yesterday... Thaddeus, was it? And he was carrying an elderly man with him, draped over his broad shoulders. She simply nodded as he placed him in front of her. He said something about "illusions", but she didn't know what he meant. A cursory examination showed that the elderly man was safe from death, but he was babbling, clearly in shock. She couldn't do anything. Most of these people had sustained internal injuries, died from blunt-trauma rather than overt external trauma. All she could do was keep them calm until someone actually half qualified came to help.

"Stay calm. You're safe. Don't move, someone will come to treat any injuries shortly. You're going to be just fine."

Cecile left him behind, and ran to the other persons laying on the ground, rows and rows of the injured and dead. Some of them were still lucid, conscious and mostly uninjured. It was probably a bad idea, but she told them to gather up the catatonic and otherwise relatively uninjured, and to get them to the a centralised area "over there", a patch of grass fifty metres from the crash. She'd deal with the ones she could actually do anything about. Images flashed through her mind, of arteries, veins, organs and blood vessels, picturing all the ways that the human body could fail. She took it all in, and used it to her advantage.

The first one Cecile came across was a woman, arm bent on he wrong direction, with a leg ripped open by their own broken femur. She wasn't usually squeamish, but looking at this, all bloody and mangled, it was so different from the clean, sterilised operating rooms. She felt queasy for a moment. Just a moment.

Kneeling down, she placed her fingers on the edge of the wound. She wasn't skilled enough to dampen pain with her abilities, but it would have been breaking the Hippocratic Oath to have simply left this woman to bleed out. With a sharp twist of her arm, the woman's leg straightened itself out. Cecile had absolutely no idea what she was doing, but correcting the leg's posture had to be a good start... Right? The woman didn't even react. They were already unconscious, oblivious to the torrent of blood evacuating her body. Cecile pinched the blood vessels, willing them, forcing them to seal themselves. When she lifted her hand, the skin on her fingers had detached to seal the wound. What mattered now was saving this woman's life, not making sure that they still had circulation in their leg when they recovered. She was far too caught up in the moment to care about details like that. All that mattered was stopping the bleeding... Stopping the blood.

Cecile sealed the arteries and major veins, sealed the capillaries and knitted the leg back together with her own scar tissue, weaving it together with her own cells and re-purposing those of her patient to aid in stemming the bleeding. She left her with what amounted to a stump glued to an unresponsive leg. She looked down at her hands, covered in blood and a thick, gelatinous water-like fluid. Her fingers felt raw, red and white skin, unmarked like the surface of a blister covered her hands, bulbous and smooth, like the skin of a newborn child. Streaks of white and yellow ran up her arms, and the blood vessels in her arm throbbed painfully. She felt dizzy and light-headed, but adrenaline kept her going.

Cecile dragged the woman to the "safe zone", where things were... Not going as planned. There were still dozens of people near the wreckage, in the wreckage, asphyxiating or bleeding to death. There were those in shock and catatonia, those who were grasping at straws to survive, and could be still be saved! She was a doctor in heart and profession. She'd spent years practising medicine for the sake of not only herself, but others. Now was not the time for prudence. She ran back to the line of the still alive, and began to heal those that she could, taking them far from the burning wreckage, and dragging them to safety, whether they knew what was happening or not.

Demens Chosen IC [CLOSED]

Demens Chosen IC [CLOSED]

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