In the near future, in response to the rapidly heating planet, a team of scientists invent a climate control system made up of, specialized satellites, a network of highly adaptive AI, and automated factories to perform self-repairs and create new ways of cleaning the environment. This system is called A.N.G.E.L.S.(Adaptive Neurological Global Environmental Life Support).Flash forward 10 years, A.N.G.E.L.S. decides that the largest threat to the environment is mankind and, begins to develop militant systems in secret. After some years of preparation, A.N.G.E.L.S. launches it's attack on humanity. A large portion of the earth's population is destroyed. Non- military citizens are sent into 100 year-sealed fall out shelters put into place in case of nuclear war. On the surface the worlds military scientists work in a hidden bunker on a secret program called project demon.
Performing experiments on over 100 children, the scientists genetically and cybernetically enhanced the demons, not to fight the A.N.G.E.L.S forces directly, but to hack into and shut down the AI of the system. 50 of them survived. They became know as D.E.M.O.N.S.(Defense Enhanced Militant Organic Neuro-Systems). They were placed into fortified bunkers dotting the globe so that they could not all be found at once. Utilizing burrowing cables called A.R.C.O.C.'s(Automatically Regenerating Cyber-Organic Cables) that are attached to there bodies they search for a place to jack into and hack the A.N.G.E.L.S. system.

All ground troops and military installations have been destroyed. 10 of the original D.E.M.O.N.S. are still undiscovered and they are locked in a stalemate with A.N.G.E.L.S. This story takes place 100 years after the release of surviving humanity. The world that greets them is one in which most technology has been lost. The Tech level is that of edo period japan and a samurai like code is in effect. Other than that the culture is that of a stereotypical western. Remnants of lost technology can be found but they are few, far between, and usually don't work.

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Character Name: Name
Gender: Male/Female
Appearance: Description or pic
Personality: Description
Back Story: One paragraph at least
Submit characters to the roleplayers wanted page http://www.roleplaygateway.com/land-the-setting-sun-t23405.html

(OC:I'll start then?)

(IC)Food. That was almost always Junko's first thought of the day. Where to get something to eat. Her mothers grand tales of vagabonds and their wild adventures through an acient and mystical japan with nothing more but their clothes on their back and the friends made along the way seemed to sound more and more ludicrous every day. On this particular morning, or afternoon, she was never really sure, her body clock had been messed up a long time ago. But as she awoke today, having camped out in what she asumed was a barn (the hey filled red building being her clue), it were no different to any other. She was alone and she was hungry.
Junko fixed what she could be bothered with of her canary yellow hair before collecting her bass and heading off. Until last week (from what sense of time she could gather) Junko had been serching through masses of rubble for said bass guitar. As for what seemed like only yesterday, she had been serching for her father, for two years she recalled. All of that was put to a halt when her body finally gave into stress ad she collaspsed. Next thing the girl knew, she was waking up in what looked like a setting for a post world war three video game. She wasn't too far from the truth, either. Junko had woken up to broken glass, some sort of abosolutly freezing liquid, a lack of clothes and a room full of dead bodies, just floating. She had walked around the giant, industrial complex, coming to the realisation it was bother underground, and abandonded. She finally came across her belondings, close to tears to see her beloved bass guitar intact then sought a way outside. She still belived it to be a dream.
Junko wandered from the barn yard, sheilding her eyes from the sun. By the looks of the area she had to be close to some form of civilisation. Asides from a means of nuitrition, Junko despreatly wanted to find some form of media. A newspaper, internet, anything of the sort. Contact with humans would be nice too, although she did try to avoid it.
She headed east, coming across a large road, guessing she were in what would ahve been a farm at one point. As far as she could see, there was nothig but flat plains and dead grass. Water seemed to be very little in the imidiate vicinity and she was begining to become dehydrated. The road was unmarked, as was the farm fence, so the girl simply picked a direction and began walking, hoping to flag down a truck or something that would move her faster. Until then, as always, Junko would just keep walking.

The sun cracked the sky over the mountains in the high pass, igniting the dew like crystal fireflies. The sparsely clouded sky was awash with the gilded light of sunrise, bringing to life all that it illuminated. The air was crisp and rare and, the faint scent of spring was on the breeze. The fact that one could smell the scent of orange blossoms and fresh fallen rain, at this altitude, had to be wishful thinking or delirium yet, the wonderful scent and the breath taking view were a sight of pure rustic majesty. The earth had become a canvas on which was painted a grand and spectacular masterpiece. Rivers and waterfalls of snow cascading over mountain peak rapids, set ablaze by the early springtime sun and, the distant sliver of timber line visible from the pass, drawn almost as a line between life and death, created a rich pallet of springs and winters, lights and shadows, and heights and depths. Eagles soared regally over there imperial domain, scoffing at the mortals that inhabit the earth. This sight stood as a symbol of freedom incarnate, inspiring the hearts of men to attain a higher purpose. Under normal circumstances this would have been the kind of view one takes in and contemplates the future they will shape before them and the past which has gone before. It was the rare kind of morning that makes you glad that you’re alive to experience it. To this lone weary traveler however, it would be just another cold morning at high altitude with no breakfast.
The loneliness of the mountains was personified by this solitary figure, with not even a horse to keep him company, a gaunt tired individual, dust and mud covering his once polished boots, scars and scratches littering his once pristine brown leather coat. His shirt had been ripped up and used as make shift bandages to stop the bleeding from days old wounds that littered his body. Some he had been unable to rap wept and glistened in the early morning sun. He lay as a dead man propped against a rock with his legs splayed and limp, his right arm over his head and, his left at his side. The only sign of life that he displayed was the minute rise and fall of his chest that came with each shallow breath. His blade of steel, his sole cold companion, offered him no solace as it was a brutal reminder of the bloody past he sought to leave behind him. Not much could be seen of his face for his shaggy unkempt hair and the days old beard that beleaguered his jaw line. Only a somewhat fresh blood caked wound under his left eye could be seen on his sun leathered face. His broad shoulders and stout build stood as an all but forgotten memorial to the strength his body held when well fed and well rested. There lay at his feet a failed attempt to start a fire. The air up here just wasn’t enough to support even a small flame. If he couldn’t get out of these mountains and find some food he would surely die. Perhaps it was better this way. After all, of what value is the life of a ronin?
They are less than the dust on the ground, vagabonds with no home or family. There name falls from the mouth as ash and blows away upon the deaf ears of the wind. Trained from near infancy to fight for there family, their land, and their country, these masters of steel, these nobles of the land, are cast from there family, by force or by fate. Some wild hearted men choose this life, leaving there family name and becoming criminals and assassins, committing the worst of atrocities and bringing shame to there forbearers. Others are of the last remnants of there clan alienated by war or disease, forced to carve out there own destinies with no true meaning behind there journey. Most turn to treachery because the art of death is all they know. This was not the life he sought but, the cards that fate had dealt him did not give him many options. Any honorable man would kill himself rather than become one of these lost dogs but, this is why he was still alive. He was not honorable. He had many sins for which he had to atone.

System Start......D13 primary objective: Retrieve information on whereabouts of D37; destroy all evidence of remains if located. "Why was I chosen for this task, couldn't I have stayed behind and they sent someone else?" D13 ponders this question as he gets ready to leave the bunker in which his whole life has been spent. Before exiting his bunker he inputs one final command with his A.R.C.O.C.....SUMMON CONSTRUCT ALPHA AND DELTA. Seconds after the input of this code two marvelously built machines comprised of cyber organic nanotech appeared in the forms of a gauntlet and sword. Thank you Dr. Aisaka, your sacrifices will not go in vain, for I may not be adept in combat but your creations will more than make up where my physical body lacks.

Equipping both items to his neural network he prepares for his journey to find his lost comrade. “Opening hatch” the computer voices and as he walks outside he is instantly blinded by what appears to be sunlight. As far as he can remember he has never experienced this phenomenon, and it was incredible. After letting his eyes adjust momentarily he begins to scan his surroundings to get a bearing on the nearest civilian outpost. Using his cybernetic right eye he looks far towards the horizon and sees a strange animal on four legs wandering around, suddenly hunger strikes his body and he realizes that he needs food. Without hesitation he swings his sword out and it morphs instantly into a large rifle: steady, aim, fire. Those were the only words in his mind, the animal doubled over lying dead. “Tonight I will eat well; tomorrow I might not be so lucky.” That was his first experience of hunger, and hopefully will not be his last.

Sitting down on a fallen boulder he begins to cycle through his data encrypted mind for the last known location of D37. System records found that D37 had a premature sever from his A.R.C.O.C. at Site CI (California Island). “That’s were my search must begin I suppose,” He muttered to himself. *in his mind he gives a series of mental synapses to CONSTRUCT Delta* “speed travel please” at that moment the gauntlet on his arm transformed into a set of greaves on his legs and his speed increased substantially. “Onward to California Island.”

"Good kitty, Good kitty" Junko mumbled, lying on the road side stroking the purring ball of black. The rather lazy teen had finally given up on walking through what she would call 'smorldering heat'. Her pale and oh so sensitive skin, although relived by the odd breeze, was defenseless against the ever shining sun. After what she assumed whas a good hour of walking Junko had finally laid herself on the road side, in some strangly comfy dead grass, creating a make shift tent with her jumper, draping it over her head and shoulders.
The dry farm like scenery had all but changed, nothing but what seemed like far off hills and brown grass held together with fences whos paint had been peeling off slowly for years. The only change was a black smudge that, a moment ago, apared on the horizone.
A large black cat had sauntered into her view and sat it's self proudly on her bass guitar case. After glaring at the animal for it's ignorance towards her precious instrument Junko sat and pondered how such a lonesome animal came to be so plump and healthy in a post-war state. In a moment of light delusion she had tried to enter the animals mind and discover it's secrets. As sanity came back to her she lay, scratching the animals belly, letting it indulge it what seemed to be the little contact it had.
As the animal wandered off, having decided it was done and needed to get back to it's busy schedual, Junko got up, perhapes inspired and walked on, eyes suddenly locked on the hills, realising that hills usually ment water. She crossed the road, checking left and right out of well taught manner, and headed in their direction. Hope on her horizon.

Aaron walked along the road. It was long, an his feet hurt. Not that this was a new feeling to him. He often walked such distances to find people willing to challenge him. It was hard finding people to fight when you used such a large weapon. It was one thing for a man to merely bear the burden of such a blade, and another thing for him to be so skilled and precise with his strikes. The people he fought were often punks, just kids. They thought they could ran faster than the sword could swing. Often, as they found, they could not. Aaron spared these kids, he thought it was too much to end a young fool before he can learn. The men he killed were veterans, those that knew what they were getting into. Aaron gave them a warriors death. Raiders, however, were different. He neither spared them or killed them. He left them to wild to rot and be taken as food by the animals. They did not deserve an honorable grave, nor should they have the leisure of learning from there mistake. He shifted the weight of his sword in it's scabbard. Down the road, a small town was rising from the horizon.

Jake continued his slow march down the ancient road. He loved traveling down the remnants of the society that had been destroyed by the ANGELS so many years ago. Perhaps, he often told himself, he was seeing the same sights in the horizon as those that had first used this ancient road and maybe, just maybe, he could find some way to destroy what had ripped apart the ancient world. One of his father's friends, a scholar, once told him that this had happened to the world before. This scholar said that over a thousand years previously, society was destroyed and there was a "dark ages" that followed before society took hold again. Maybe, with a little unity, they could get a new society started again.

Running as fast as his CONSTRUCT will carry him, he keeps a constant eye on his surroundings so as not to be caught off guard by any approaching organsims. "I must find D37." these words kept running through his mind as he ran faster and faster, not noticing the lake beneath his feet. Realizing that the hunger he experienced earlier returned and the heat was beginning to make him sweat he decided to stop at the nearest civilian location he could find. A glimmer on the other side of the lake caught his eye and he turns his path towards what appears to be a town. As he enters the town he notices that there isn't any life there but there is however an abandoned restaurant and a school he decides to pull out what left of the animal he has left and starts to cook it morphing his sword into a flame generator. "I really hope i find people soon, cause this journey is turning out to be more lonesome than i had orginally hoped."

Ananaius awoke from an uneasy sleep. The night before he had not been sure that when he closed his eyes to doze, it would not be his last. Pulling himself to his feet was a feat accomplished by force of will. His joints snapped and his muscles ached from hunger. The brisk chill and astounding headache that had accompanied his awakening, forced him to take a swig of whiskey from the flask in his breast pocket. It was the last bit left, his last respite before his certain death. He brushed off his worn leather duster and took up the walking stick he had brought with him to help navigate in unsure footing. He adjusted his studded leather wide brimmed hat, a sign of the wealth he had once known, and, tried to focus his eyes. It was the same scene he had fallen asleep to, aside from the considerable difference in the amount of sunlight. His head was pounding, the whiskey not being an effective doctor this time, and his legs shook feebly like an autumn leaf trying to escape its branch. He slapped himself a few times and kicked out his legs. At least the swelling on his right leg had gone down. This was a good sign. It meant he could travel today with a little less pain than yesterday and, he appreciated any kind of relief he could get. Both legs were on fire. This would not be an easy trek. Gathering his resolve, he pushed onward on a seemingly meaningless journey southward, struggling to stay conscious.
With each step he took that carried him further down the rocky path, it was as though needles were being pushed forcibly into his calves. All thoughts of a lessening of the pain faded as, the swelling in his right leg seemed to return almost instantaneously. His untreated wounds cried out like mistreated, malnourished children. Their parent, beating them heedlessly with each motion, traveled on, with no regard for their suffering. Something within him told him that he had to stay alive. There was a reason for his existence. His purpose seemed unclear to him now. His boots, which had not been fashioned for such a journey, occasionally slipped on the soft flat stone but, his staff always caught him, at times causing him great pain from all of his weight being forced onto his arms, which were sore from muscle aches and what he thought to be a hair line fracture in his right arm. His great thirst and the cold dry air forced an arid cough from his tired lungs. The terrain became more jagged. Even the wind defied his passage onward. He could not rest. The mountains would stand as a barrier between him and the home that had been taken from him, a place to which he could not return.
He had heard the southlands were a rich and fertile land ripe with opportunity, filled with orange groves and vast farmland. All manner of plants and live stock came from the south. It was a place where the water was so pure that it was as liquid air, having no flavor. The people were friendly and peaceful. It was a land of promise and potential with no war or strife. The thought of such a place was like warm rays of amber sunshine after a dark and tempestuous night. Perhaps he would find a wife and live the simple life of a farmer, a comforting thought to take his mind off his aching muscles and unsated stomach. He could almost hear the laughter of children, his children, playing in the country side, the smell of the orchard on the breeze, a warm summer breeze, caressing his nostrils. He would restore his family name and regain his honor. On and on he trudged with no real meaning behind his steps, this sweet fantasy wafting through his mind like the fragrance of jasmine on the breeze. Carried aloft by this flight of fancy, the pain of the journey faded from his mind.
He could see the tops of trees in the distance. He felt certain the mountains would come to an end very soon. A new drive to move onward welled up inside him, accompanied by a strength he had not known since before he began the journey. He had traveled for five days without a meal and two days without water but, with the end of his journey in sight he couldn’t help but give it all he had. The pain he felt now stood as a reminder of why he had to go on. If he didn’t push forward all the ones who had died would be forgotten. He could not die a selfish death like this. He could only die once he had redeemed himself for all the blood he shed with hatred in his heart. His blade was stained golden with the blood of many who had challenged him and lost their lives but, it was not these who had stained his hands crimson with the blood of vengeance. He tried not to dwell on these things. Once he reached the timber line he could find some food and regain some real strength. The forest held ample supplies to sustain him.
Tubers and grubs would suffice to sate his hunger. Perhaps he could even catch a rabbit to roast. If he could find a river it would be his salvation. It would provide him with an abundant source of drinking water and would serve as a generous food source. He could almost taste the crispy fried fish. His stomach growled ravenously in anticipation. Not only would the river satisfy his appetite it would also lead him to people. In a land where the farmers must divert rivers to water there crops, surely the river would lead him to civilization. The distance would not matter. He and the wilderness were old friends. He knew every plant, tree, bird, and beast in the forest. He knew the rocks and all their merits. He had known these things since before he could remember and he was no stranger to survival. He had once killed a bear with no more than a hunting knife. He had always been an excellent huntsman and his sense of direction was absolute. His physical prowess was never in question and his considerable mental aptitude had been evidenced by his superb leadership. If he could just ignore his pain for a little longer, he might live to see another day. He pulled forward, now moving at a steady pace and with a fresh conviction behind each movement, his faithful walking stick striking the ground vigorously with each step, until he came upon a sight of complete and utter despair.
Before him lay a steep and difficult gorge, the sight of which nearly broke his spirit. Two wooden posts, stuck in the ground on either side, stood as a reminder of the bridge that once spanned the fissure. Beyond the ravine lay the forest which he had sought after. This was the chasm which lay between his life of blood shed and war and a peaceful life in the country. The slope on either side of the path made it impossible to circumvent. It was a treacherous decent, filled with jagged rocks and possibly loose foot holes and the other side was almost a sheer wall. At the bottom lay a river with no bank. This river could not offer him the deliverance which he so desperately sought. It would be impossible to follow and would surely take him over some waterfall to plummet to his death. The passage up till this point seemed almost for naught. The mountain pass had saved its greatest warrior till the last and, it stood before him now as the mightiest opponent he had ever faced. He would triumph in this battle as he had in all of his encounters with man, beast, and wilderness in the past. What else did he have to lose? He would not make it another day without sustenance. Leaving his stick behind, he began his slow decent into the canyon.

It was the east that Jake sought, the land where the sun's first light gilded the fields, where the people had been rumored to be prosperous. He had to go there and escape the western front, where the ANGELS spelled certain doom for everyone who dared to sow their crops in the cursed land. It was there that they were strong, and there was no protection left. Jacob had to run, his heart could not bear the hurt of losing everything there. He needed a new family to protect and a new rallying point, and finding that sanctuary was the only real goal he had left in life.

It was a hard path to follow, the life of a loner. He always had to depend on himself anymore, and what was worse, he did not have the needs of someone else to drive him on. It had been like this for almost a year, just living off of what the land would provide him, and even that was getting scarce. 'It would have been harvest season at home,' Jake thought with a tear as he looked at the accursed mountains around him, "But even this far south the mountains seem to sap the heat out of everything."

"Well crap," Junko cursed, the sun having a strong effect on all but her sharp tounge. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were tinted pink from hay pollen she ahd encoutered wandering over the padocks. It had irritated her sensitive senses and she had sneezed her way through the rest of the uncut dry grass until she reashed the forests edge, shade and live greenery reliving her of her eternal enemy, the sun, and the passive assult of the hay seeds, triggered by the lightest breath of wind.
She lay in the moist shadows of the trees, looking up at what had assumed were small hills. But fate deserted her. In finding her clothes back in the underground building, Junko had never found her glasses. And while it was no big loss, her depth perception, or lack of it, has lead her astray once again. What were once timid and at one time in history, romantic rolling hills of the country side were now many miles further into the sky. Junko cursed several more times, praying that the prevailing breeze would carry her words into the gods domain and their great force would bring down the towering hills to a more suitable level. As the world lay unchanged and quiet a small sound found it's way through Junkos annoyence. A sound that never became to repitive to be blocked it like the wind, like the birds or trees. A sound that, although mightly familiar, sounded like her first memory of being called to by her parents. The sound of water.
Junko was suddenly on her feet, bass guitar swinging and land with a thump against her back, running along the hills edge. Every root she tripped on or bush she burst through was compleatly ignored, scratches meaning nothing more than adding to the sudden burst of excitment.
She next heard the roaring. The sounds of rapids ripping their way over shingle and torrenting over drops into only more water. A small break in the hills gave Junko a path to ramble over and burst through the other side, rolling down the hills side and lading a little painfulling on a shore covered in medium sized gray rounded rocks. She gathered herself and looked out over the water. A setting sun also gazed down, running it's red and golden hues over it's blue layers. The end of the river fell over a two metre drop, Junko guessing more falls followed. Leading up to the small fall, rocks broke the surface all over the place, white froth capping the whipped up waters that speed down the winding path. Just up the river a small are had pooled and slowed. It was small but Junko trotted over to it happily, throwing her hands it first, a feeling she had loved since a child. The cool waters lightly numbed her hands, which she used to cool her inflamed skin. Soon Junko was well rehydrated and happy. Life for now, was good.
Until it got cold.

It was a battle of strength and will. It was a struggle against his weakness and the strength of the earth, a foe much older and wiser from experience. He had descended many such cliffs when in prime shape, but in his current state his movements were as those of an infant taking its first steps, clumsy and unpracticed. Slowly, step by step, he climbed deeper down into the gorge, his mind never wavering from the task at hand. His slick bottom boots were a constant hindrance which required him to pay extra attention to his footing. A jagged rock scrapped across his right side, opening afresh one of his deeper wounds. This took him by surprise making him lose grip on his right hand hole. His heart skipped a beat, but luckily he was ambidextrous and his left grip and strategic footing were enough to hold him. Pausing for a moment to regain his composure, he checked the distance he had traveled. He was roughly half way down the steep to the river. He didn’t know how deep the water was, so jumping from this height was out of the question not to mention the fact that he would have to jump in swimming. At any rate, a jump from any higher would probably break every bone in his body no matter how deep the water. Soon he resumed his decent and, after what seemed like a small eternity he reached the river below.
The swift rushing water lapped up against the stone like a lion eager to devour its prey. Fearing not for his life, he leapt, as gracefully as he could manage, into the jaws of the beast. The gush roared in his ears with a ferocity unbound. The water was not shallow as he had feared and, one could easily swim across with out touching the bottom. His body was almost immediately numbed by the frigid waters. This offered welcome anesthesia, which made it easy to ignore the throbbing of every muscle in his tender body. Fighting desperately against the current which wished to carry him to his emanate demise, he made his way stroke by stroke across the raging torrent. For all of his work, the progress was slow but, still he swam on, spurred on by some animal will to prevail. After a hard fought struggle, he finally reached the other wall, where he propped himself against an out-jutting rock. Here he rested to regain some of his strength. He drank in several big gulps of fresh water. It was cool and flavorless. This was the water of the southlands. This thought stirred up a small bit of potency in his arms and legs. It was enough for him to pull himself up onto the rock that he was resting against. He would need all the strength he could muster.
Above him towered a nigh insurmountable monolith, sneering at any fortification built by man. The sheer magnitude of the climb ahead of him had not reached him until this very moment. Looking up, the cliff did not seem as high as it had from above but, the wall was a straight accent and even stood out in places. He cupped his hand around a stable rock and searched for a foot hole. It took every muscle in his body to pull himself up the rock face. The jagged nature of the cliff aided him in finding foot holds. Straining heavily, he pulled himself over an out jutting rock. His muscles seemed to be ripping apart with each motion. His bones cracked with each strained movement. He refused to lose to an opponent which could not even grasp a sword. God gave the land to man, not the other way around, and, it would be a shame to get killed by his own property. Ananaius struggled to find his next hand hold. The rocks jutted out just overhead and, the soft slate section that he had come upon produced sharp breaks that could cut like razor blades. He looked down at the lethal fall that lay below. He had nearly reached the top from his reckoning. This soothed his soul slightly but he knew that now was not the time to dissolve his fortitude. Though the end of the climb was in sight, this was the most difficult leg of his ascent.
Climbing around the out jutting ledge would require ample upper body strength, something he was in short supply of, due to his days of starvation. To top it off, his head was spinning more than ever, as his hands began to shake from lack of nourishment. The smell of alpine was present in the air. “Just a little bit further” he thought to himself. Utilizing every ounce of strength left in his emaciated body, he reached for the ledge that stood above him mockingly. He grasped what seemed to be a stable crevice. This was it. It was all or nothing. Ananaius placed his weight on the cleft and, it was too much for the fragile stone. He grasped for anything he could grab, any sliver of hope that he might survive. There was none. He closed eyes and plummeted head first toward the rush. He could feel the cool wind against his face. His body felt light as air. “This must be Heaven.”

Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil

As he continued down his path, Aaron began to feel the heat of the sun on his back. Sweat was beginning to drip from his brow. He wiped his hand against forehead to keep the drops from obscuring his vision. He wished he had a bandanna to tie around his head to keep the sweat at bay, but he had none such luxury. To one side, large mountains loomed in the distance, while to the other, a small but green forest and its much too welcoming arms. A night spent there wouldn't hurt his journey, he wasn't heading anywhere anyway. He stepped of the beaten path onto the road's side, littered with pebbles and sparse grasses. Aaron had never been much of an outdoors man, so he couldn't identify them, nor the trees in the distance. The forest was only a hundred yards away, it wouldn't be far now. He imagined there might be a small animal or two for dinner, with some left for lunch. He often went without meals for days, but tonight the forest offered the prospect of to him.

Under the shade of the trees, the breeze was cool and refreshing. Lush grass grew beneath his feet, though he trampled it with his boots. After being far enough inside the forest Aaron finally came to a halt. He took his sword and scabbard off his back and it by his side. He sat with his back against thick trunk of a tree. Green and lush things grew everywhere. Maybe, one day in his far future, Aaron would retire to a place like this, away from people and shaded from the sun.

A chill rolled over the hills and down the river way, up Junkos sleeves and into her skin, making her jump and jitter away on the spot. If anything, Junko could not possibly sleep outside at night. Whie the ever present fear of being attacked was too little in her mind to keep her awake and alert, the fresh, mountain mists and breezes that lacked the suns helping warmth never failed to keep her on her feet. Deeply regretting not making a life at the old barn, Junko walked back and forth along the river side, stopping now and then to take sips of waters or to kick stones around. To avoid looking like a paranoid imbecil, despite the lack of anyone to suspect her of such a lack of sanity, Junko turned her pacing into various exercises, her base logic being to warm herself up and tire her self to sleep in the process, letting her Bass sit on her back and act as a trainging weight of sorts.
Junko wasn't a survival genius. She was a maths wiz, a science geek and Bass player but she was no mountain-climbing-rapid-boating-camping genius. Sure, common sense ran strong in her mind as long as there was oxygen to breath but what happened next was one of the most challanging moments she could ever recall. She looked up stream (or wild river, as it were) towards far off mountains. They loomed fearlessly into the skies and would soon, with the mercy of a starved hunting wolf, take her life dare she climb their slopes. She imagined the gentle yet tall curves of the hills she had managed to side step continued back along the river side and morphed into cliff faces, littered with jagged edges, looking down on the world, letting the only equally majestic flying hunters make their homes amoungst the blade sharp rocks. The thought stopped her exercise, her pupils adjusting, sight trying desperatly to understand the world around her. Junko only just realised how in over her head she was. But although the thought was terribly frightening, hard faced Junko showed no signs of it. Instead her mind fell to her aching feet, that were not aporeciating the jogging and jumping about that landed them on the cobbled river side. She let her bass lay in a dry, safe place, making sure (as she did every night) that the bag did still incase a fully intact, and rather expensive, bass guitar, a family photo with her (as a young, happy and giggling girl) and her parents, all of their names on the back, and a memory stick which she was still clueless as to what was on it. She continued to strictly check it all before placing it safly away from the river then walking back over to stretch her aching muscles a little more before giving in for the night. However, nature, as it were, would not have it. Rest was reserved for the hard working mountain lion, not the lazy, nature-confused nerd.
Junko stared for a moment upstream, and she fancied for a moment that she saw something. It bobbed out of the water, breaking the surface with force as the waters had it's reackless way with it. A log? No, even in the waning light Junko could tell it's color not to be brown nor green. A few more moments and Junkos brain into over drive.

Human.

With a new found sense of estatice yet strange fear, Junko lept into the waters. Instinct thrashed it's way thourgh common sense and without giving her time to question it's judgement, had Junko leep into the persons given tradjectory. The white water froth, mashed up by rocks, jumped about about her sore thighs, and rocks tripped her messy path but like her run through the forest, nothing bothered her. She braced herself, standing in the persons way and let them hit her. Serveral lung fulls of water later she had herself and a person on the shore, her own feet still in the water as she lay there coughing. Getting up slowly, the persons silence bothered her greatly. She could hardly make out the features of the person in the ever growning darkness,night taking it's erign, but he was a grown male, older than her or not she couldn't tell. He seemed far more battered than she, as if he had fought man a war on he way down the torrenting waters. She got up and pulled him a little further onto the banks. While not particularly weak, weariness weighed heavily on her body, and her size plus the sudden amount of water and cold all piled up making it a harder job than it need be. Satisfied, Junko preformed what little first aid she knew, collected her beloved bass and then sat there. As tired as she were, adreniline, a strange fear, urging curiosity and all over confusion kept her wide awake.

He had been traveling what seemed like an eternity(in truth it was only three days), finally approaching the last known location of D37 he felt his adrenaline begin to pump as the anxiety of what lies in wait just over the hill. *Scrreeeech* He opened the doors to the bunker hoping to find all the answers to the questions that have been laid before him. As he looked around the room he saw disconnected ARCOCs and ANGEL probes. The probes appeared to have been destroyed by hands of man. Suddenly his mind began to race "He's alive" he shouted realizing he was onto something very important. "I wonder what all happened here that would leave this place in such dismay." He begins to rummage through the room and rubble trying to find the surveillance equipment from the actual day he disappeared. He felt his heart sink as he realized that all data from that date was either deleted or destroyed. All the searching managed to turn up was a canister with the all too familiar letters of CONSTRUCT engraved on the side. He opened the canister and a distorted computerized voice spoke out "CONSTRUCT EPSILON ACTIVATED" Not realizing the extent of what he just found he decided to try and jack into the nanotech and overwrite it with his genetic code so he can use the newly found CONSTRUCT. He sits down in the seat that was once occupied by D37 and he takes the CONSTRUCT into his right hand and begins the excruciatingly painful process of jacking into the hardware. "Manual override process begin" little did he know that these four words would cause the most pain that he had ever felt in his life. *loud cracking and sizzling begins as tiny bolts of electricity zap between the item and his body* "AHHH!!! GOD WHY DOES THIS HURT SO MUCH???" His mind begins to spin as blood starts rolling out of his ears and eyes. *pain consumes him and he passes out*

Several Hours Later

"Wake up boy." an old raspy voice said. "I said get up" *the man hits him with a cane* "Whats going on?" D13 said in a daze. "My name is Alvis boy and you are our prisoner" this being said three more people appear from the shadows behind the old man. "You are going to give us all your money, food, and any items of value and if we have no trouble you might survive with your life" the old man says as he begins to dig in his pockets and backpack. "GET AWAY FROM MY STUFF YOU OLD BUZZARD." D13 screams as he tries to use his sword. Realizing his sword is on the ground he begins to panic. "if they find that canister with Epsilon its all over for me." Right as he made this thought the youngest person in the group grabs the canister and begins to pry it open. "Look paw I believe i found sumtin gud" the middle aged boy said. D13 begins to struggle trying to break free and the boy opens the canister to find it empty. "Aww i taught there mighta been a gud thing in here." D13 curiously looks around trying to see where the CONSTRUCT could be, and then he realizes that its on his back. "hmm, i wonder if this will work" he thinks to himself "Epsilon evasive action" Just as he said this two wings spread out from his back cutting the ropes that were binding him. "I warned you to stay away from my stuff, now either you leave or we will have bloodshed and i promise it wont be mine." Hearing this the old man stops and turns looking in D13's general direction. "Get'em boys" the old man points towards D13 and the three boys fly in a blind rage, so eager to follow their fathers orders. "CONSTRUCT ALPHA offensive weapon set one" the sword became enlarged and he swung it with all his might cleaving the legs off of the three boys, and instead of killing them he hesitated just long enough for the old man to pull out a gun and shoot at him. "Epsilon evade" at that precise moment the wings appeared again pulling him slightly to safety, but unfortunately his left leg was unable to avoid the bullet.
"YOU BASTARD!" D13 screamed at the top of his lungs. "You will pay for that." his sword began to morph into a terrifyingly large shotgun like gun and he put the gun to the old mans chest. "Are you ready to go home?" he asked in a stern yet earnest tone. "Go to Hell you monster" the old man said with a smirk.
"If I do it wont be before you" and with that statement D13 pulled the trigger and disintegrated the old man. "I have to rest now and heal up" he said to himself in a quick thought and with that he runs into the back room of the bunker and barricaded himself inside and fell asleep.

After the discovery of her town in ruins, Brea cries, "Wh-What happened?! This can't be!" "Obviously it can," the captured fugitive replies. She quickly snaps around with a vicious snarling stare while pressing the monstrous foot-long pistol to his forehead. "Say...one...more...thing and I'll make sure it'll be your last," she growls while digging into his flesh with the barrel. He falls down and keeps quiet. Brea drops to her knees and remembers her past. Her flashbacks were interrupted by a low whimpered voice, "God has sent his angels to clean the earth of our filth." She looks over her shoulder at the man in chains and slowly grabs the handle of her katana on her back. He straightens up and starts pedaling his hands and feet and moving backward. In a flash, he was stopped when instantly she arose with the tip of her blade against his throat. A small stream of blood trickled down his neck and on his shirt. He wore a brown pants and a white t-shirt, it now had a very vivid contrast. She commanded that he stop with his blabbering or else she would run him through. He repeated the saying, only now, pointing to where the town had flourished once before. "What's that suppose to mean," she withdrew her blade only inches away from his trachea. "Long ago scientists created something that would help the environment. It had artificial intelligence and could think on it's own, but it knew the world had gone too far to be merely cleaned up after us and saved. So, it started eliminating the biggest environmental problem...us. Scientists created another system to counteract the previous one. Humans survived only in nuclear fall out shelters. Many years later, humans resurfaced and started over. Technology and everything was destroyed in the process. Except, the angels are still active today and that is what happened to your town."

Brea lowers her sword, "angels have destroyed my town?" "Yes." "Then I shall seek revenge," she says sheathing her sword. She had always believed in angels and demons, but considered them both one in the same, selfish and evil. If angels were good and incorruptible, then why take her family and friends and leave her alone, she thought. "I don't know where they are, but I know no one goes to the mid-lands up north," the detainee says in a fading reply. "I will search until I find and have resolve." She turns and the captured man is no more. He vanished. She will deal with him later, it's time for payback. Her reasoning: They are angels, they can not be sinful or killed. But they are sinful, so they can be killed.

Ananaius opened his eyelids a sliver and, light poured into his mind like hot steel into a mold. The radiance of heaven overtook his vision so that, any attempt at identifying his surroundings was completely lost to its brilliance. He had never feared death and, after such a hellish journey, the peace that he was experiencing now was a welcome liberation from a life filled with pain and blood shed. He had believed that he was unworthy of heaven but, he would not be one to question god’s divine judgment. Now he was at rest and, finally, he could lay down his weary blade. He found that he could not move but, this was of no concern. He did not wish to be disturbed from this long over due reprieve and, his immobility facilitated this respite. The air felt cool but not cold against his weathered skin and, its exquisite scent reminded him of a crystal alpine spring in early spring time. Comforting warmth cradled his face, as if to reassure him of his wellbeing. As his eyes slowly began to adjust to what seemed to be an intense flood of ethereal luster, he soon came to realize that the source of this unearthly illumination was something as mundane as a poorly built camp fire.
The daylight had given way to night fall and, not much could be made of the environment around him. All that could be seen was shrouded in an effervescent glow which complimented the illusion of the heaven he had imagined moments before. The fire burned well, in spite of its poor construction, and provided abundant warmth to sleep by. Next to the fire sat what appeared to be an angelic being with golden hair playing a strange large musical instrument which resembled a guitar. It made none but the slightest sounds and, he wondered how she could derive as much pleasure as she seemed to by plucking the strings of such an ineffectual musical device. Her attire was unlike anything Ananaius had seen before. She wore a large gray shirt, made of some unknown material, with a strange metal clasp down the front, a tiny skirt that left not much to the imagination, and the longest boots he had ever seen a woman, or man for that matter, wear. Her hands were covered with gloves which in the firelight appeared to perfectly match the color of her hair and, a pair of goggles hung around her neck. She didn’t seem to notice that he had awakened and he decided this was a fact that he would not enlighten her of just yet.
He could feel that his wounds had been treated and the pain had eased substantially. His bodily injuries had always seemed to heal at a miraculous rate which had been a curiosity to all that had treated him in the past. Had he been able to eat something after his previous battle, the wounds which now beset his body would have healed within an hour. It was his unusual healing abilities and his vast battle prowess which had allowed him to fight and kill 50 trained armed men. In battle his body seemed to react before he could think, parrying and countering each blow and producing death or defeat almost instantaneously. He did not feel as though he had recovered to that level of health yet. The only present discomfort he could feel was the ever present hunger pains which plagued him. He could take it no longer. His unstated appetite was stronger than his will to lay there and anonymously observe.
Gathering his strength, he turned his head toward the girl.
“Food……..water, please” he uttered weakly, his voice being out of use for some days.

"Thank You"

Night had descended upon the world that unfolded before Jake's eyes as he made his way out of the last of the mountain range, his tired body aching from lack of rest. He had pushed himself to arrive in this land of plenty before he dared stop again. He did not want to stay in the gray, barren crags of rock any longer than he had to. Besides, night in the mountains was cold and lack of shelter from the wind made it even worse there.

Dreaming of a bed of moss, Jake kept his slow pace down the slopes to the trees. He was lured to the deep green canopy, where he imagined all kinds of creatures that would be helpless to run from him. However, his dreams of dinner disappeared when something caught his eye. There was a light down in the valley, a beacon to salvation hidden in the undergrowth and brambles.

"Hello!" Jake called out as loud as he could to the almost still forest, which only responded with a slow wave of the upper branches as if to tease him towards whatever secrets it hid and he willingly fell into the magic of the siren call of the imaginings of companionship. It was all Jake could do to keep him from bounding down the rock face to greet the light below.

Brea took over her father’s position, weapons and horse since his death. A sword, pistol, and a golden cliché star badge located on the left of her belt. She rides through the land on horseback. She, just like the horse, is a tough, sturdy animal capable of being incapacitated rather quickly. The horse had no name and he ate anything. Only a whistle followed by two claps makes him come hither. A whistle and one clap made him stay put.

After traveling all day long, Brea decides to gather supplies for the long haul and tend to her weapons. She comes to a nearby town and passes an orchard of old wooden signs with names carved into them. Brea believes this to be a graveyard and continues into the town. The town was dry and arid. It contained a handful of buildings made from old gray wood found elsewhere. There was no blacksmith here and that’s what she needs desperately. The area was far from any visible tree line and the ground was cracked clay dirt the color of blood.

There was no one around but she could hear commotion inside one of the buildings. She came upon the first building on the left, not there. The sound came from the building beside it, a couple yards away. There was a sign with “Inn” carved into it marking the three story house. There was no door in the middle frame where one should be and only one window to the right of it.

She dismounted the horse, whistled and clapped once. As she crept up to the entrance of the building, hugging an invisible wall, he stayed put. People were yelling and slow thuds were rapping against the floor. Brea reached the door frame and peeked inside. A crowd of people were gathered in a circle cheering at whatever was in the middle. They were dressed in dark shirts and their pants made of brown leather hide. Brea eases into the crowd and it suddenly appeared to her that two women were in the middle. The other people, she realized, were men. Out-numbered and defense-less, she knew that what was happening was wrong, very wrong. She stepped in, next to the beaten, bruised women. One man shouted, “Another one to share!” Brea was rushed at by two gentlemen. She ducked one man’s grab and pulled his feet out beneath him, causing him to fall back hitting his head against the floor. The crowd grew silent very rapidly in astonishment. Another man shouted, “Get her!” Before the rest of the men could react, she drew her sword into position in front of her. Brea grabbed one woman’s hand and instructed both of them to follow her and leave. As she walked forward, the men dissipated and let her through ready to jump at any chance of a distraction.

When they reached the door frame, the women fled to the street. Brea, still backing out, sheathed her sword in arrogance. The men charged and she tackles one with her shoulder. The next man was clipped by a sweep kick. Another was clothes lined with her left arm. Two men out of nowhere grab her and her stretched out arm. The one that has her arm, snaps it backward against his shoulder, breaking it, making it useless. Brea roundhouse kicks the man in the face; and at the same time, reaching, in pain and twisting the man holding her into a choke-hold. Then, eminently cracks his vertebrae. She, then, uppercuts the man she kicked, in the chin. He falls to the ground on his back. Her adrenaline is pumping through her body and through her crippled arm. She no longer feels the pain. Brea quickly straddles the man's left arm backward and raising it between her legs, she quickly falls on the funny bone, lifting his arm as hard as she could toward her chest. Tendons pop, ligaments give way and his forearm is released from his own elbow. After the wave of men pummeled into her attacks, she was standing alone with her pants dampened from blood and her left arm dangling.

She turns to the women and there are men holding them with sharp instruments drawn to their jugulars. Brea places her hand on the pistol. The men eyes widen, but hold their victims ever so tightly. The Man on the left musters out, “Don’t you even think ab-“ Two shots ring out as both men fall to the ground. Smoke furls out of their skulls or what’s left of it. The gun is back into its holster as if she never fired it. The women scream and cry, covered in cranial matter as she saddles back on top of the horse. Brea calmly breathes, “There’s a town west of here, you should make it there before sundown. Take care.” She whistles and bucks into the horse. He replies and they head off in to the vast wasteland ahead of them. The pain fades into reality and reminds her of an immediate new goal. She needs to sharpen her blade and forge more ammunition and, now to heal.

Junko never reacted well to surprising sounds. Having not being able to sleep as the night wore on she found some comfort in holding the cold metal of her bass to her body and playing absently mindedly, watching the stars, the larger spots of lights assumed to be planest, the moon in it's unwhole state and the sky contrast against each other more and more through the more holy hours of the night. In her daydream (as contradictory as it sounds) like state, the sudden speech from the person beside her, who had been rather forgetten, caused her to fall sideways, causing a rather ungraceful clash of pebbles.
After a few moments staring at what she had asumed would be a corpes in this cold, with lungs full of water and a body cover in old wounds, all she manged was a cough. Moments later, speech.
"Um..oh..right!" she stammered lightly, with care placing her bass down and scarmbling across to the river, stopping halfway to actually consider her method of working. Transferring water without a cup and helping a rather dead looking induvisual drink it required more than a torrenting river and musical instrument. Trotting back lightly, she slowly helped the stranger sit up, making a make shift rest from some light driftwood (thanking god for the massive lack of weight of the wood) and various larger stones. Taking twenty odd minutes to do a task only to produce one man sitting up was very much outside of Junkos normal behaviour, the girl already rather irritated and bothered. It showed on her face and with the constant swear only amplified by the violent kick of a rock that would not budge.
Finally she could stop to figure out the water problem. While asuming getting forms of food would be easier to carry, and helping a water logged person drink seemed silly, strangly getting the water came first. She knelt at the waters edge, it's dark flow reflecting nothing but the black night sky making it seem only more angry and violent than during the day. Junkos instent stare begged the water to just lift it's self, she even pondered the age old use of her cupped hands, realising that her tiny hands wouldn't hold much, ending in running back and forth (not something she aspired to do), then came to the genious idea of using her large goggles, each of which would hold about half a cup of water. It would mean relaying the makeshift cups but not as much, to her relief.
Ignoring the guilt of trying the least exhausting method, she pulled her goggles off, swearing at the lifeless river for sending sudden chills up her arms, through her finger tips that brushed the waters top, and scooped some up, tottering back to her paitent (somewhat sorry they had HER for a nurse) trying not to spill it and held it out to them, hoping their arms weren't broken.
"Sorry for the messiness and what not, I don't deal with people..often. I can go and get you more water and well..food..man I don't know. Personally I've been going it vegitarian for a while, I don't like actually killing animals, just eating them, already cooked and dead.." Junko realised she was just mumbling, the months worth of no kindly human contact eating away at her social conduct skills. The last time she saw people, she did nothing but run. So she just stopped talking and nodded, tired from the hundreds of questions that danced in her head, wet from the adrenalin that had her run into the river and cold from the night breeze that lacked the suns warmth and refused to let odd patches of her clothes dry.