Metro City

It was cold. Very very cold. Shadows walked in the fog, casting glimpses to the lone man wandering. As soon as they appeared, they disappeared. It was an uncomfortable place to be; spirits could be sensed there. The spirits of the dead. The man held an assault rifle as he climbed over a pile of rubble; probably a house way back when. He had brown hair, pale gray eyes, and a special forces suit on along with a gas mask. He was shouting for help. He had gotten into a gunfight with a couple of freelances a while back, and he was wounded in the shoulder and side.

If I keep up like this, I'm not getting back to the transport. And if I do, I doubt I'll live. I'm already so weak. So hungry. I need help. He thought. His patch on his right breast area read 'T. Kazanen' In bold, his military initials. He had a couple more good shouts in him.

"I need help over here!" He cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting. He waited a few seconds, then collapsed to his knees and dropped his gun, taking a rest. The warm, uncomfortable feeling of his own blood ran down his back under his body armor vest, and he sighed.


OOC: Is this ok? I'm new here. OOC

[You need to give us more information about the scenario and the setting - it seems like it's a post-apocalyptic world, but I can't tell, and so I wouldn't feel good about roleplaying yet.]

OOC: This section is essentially "anything goes", and it's all within one world. If you're running a standalone storyline, it can be moved to wherever it belongs.

Welcome to GWing, though! I'm glad you're here.

OOC: Yeah, this is supposed to be a roleplay thing, not a standalone story. The setting is in Metro City in the eastern side. Its a vine-growth area with all ruins, only a few buildings even remotely standing. Rubble covers the area, debris as well. The stench of death is rampant, and a heavy fog covers the area. OOC

[More. Where's Metro City? What is Metro City? Is it post-apocalyptic? Would I be able to be a soldier, or a freelancer, or a radiated human? When is it set, in the future or in the past?]

Loading his pistol - his reliable Desert Eagle - with a fresh clip, the freelancer poked his head out of cover, looking past the building he was hiding behind. He and his band had been caught under fire from a platoon of soldiers, and they'd barely escaped; only four of the original fifteen had survived, and even he'd been hit, his left arm dangling almost-useless. The cigarette caught between his lips had gone out, quashed in the heavy rain crippling his visibility, and his long hair was dripping over his camo bandana.

Nonetheless, he knew that out in the street somewhere, probably crouched behind one of the rusted and burnt-out cars, were at least two soldiers. He'd seen eight of the thirteen go down himself, and a quick Chinese Parliament with a fellow free man had shown nine were dead in total. That still left four potentially alive. The rain beat down heavier, and the freelancer made his move; he scampered out from behind the building and rushed to the nearby van. A roll of thunder disguised the sound of his steps, and he slammed his back hard against the van.

Then, amazingly, a soldier crept around the van. With the heavy rain blowing into his eyes, he didn't notice the free man standing there, and it took less than a moment's hesitation before he aimed and fired a shot straight through the soldier's head.

Ten.

"He's over here!" came the shout from behind the freelancer, and he wheeled around, pistol levelled but unable to see anything. He backed towards the van doors, using the van to shield himself from the rain, but realised that the doors were unlocked. Quietly, he eased them open and climbed inside - a tramp was slumped in the corner, seemingly asleep, but no sooner than was he inside than two soldiers walked around the corner of the van. One was covering the other with his assault rifle, and the freelancer knew he had to go first. He aimed through the broken space where the window in the door should have, and fired.

Eleven.

Luck was with him tonight, as a peal of thunder almost drowned the noise of the shot completely. The first soldier hadn't noticed his cover going down - nor would he. Looking at the body of his fallen friend, the first the freelancer had killed, he was completely oblivious to the gun behind him until it was poking in the back of his head.

"Drop your weapon," he rasped. The soldier obeyed reluctantly, turning his head slightly to see who was there - the sight of the freelancer's face made his eyes widen.

"You?!" The freelancer grinned, but it was a nasty smile.

"Me. Now you can either answer some questions and get a nice quick death, or you can keep quiet and have me show you pieces of yourself."

The soldier talked, he sang like a canary. The freelancer's skill with a blade was...the thing nightmares were made of, and his reward indeed was a swift death. As the electricity in his brain died, the freelancer was already busy collecting up the ammunition and rations of the soldiers, stowing it in his backpack - he'd taken the AK74 from one of the first soldiers he'd killed, and it hadn't let him down yet.

"I need help over here!" came a shout on the wind. The free man turned; every instinct told him to ignore it, but something else told him not to. Maybe it was something in the voice, but the free man started moving towards the voice, Desert Eagle still out nonetheless.

OOC :

Eric Martindale wrote:Terra
Not Earth.

Wing City
#GWing
Currently in ruin from attacks. In the process of being rebuilt.

Gambit's Bar
Bunny House - next to Gambit's Bar, strip club.

Bloodthirst Club

The Embassy

The Lake
Currently covered in magical ice shield, housing 100 - 200 survivors.

The Bluff

Metro City
Metro City seems to be in ruin, with various apparitions wandering the premises. Not a safe place to be.

Gambit's Bar - Destroyed

Luxembourg

END OOC

[Hey, I'm not having a go at you. I thought Metro City was something you'd made up, and so I asked questions to get you thinking about this. Still, it works well enough, I don't have to change anything.]

[A strange burst of activy as heard, as a diesel powered truck speed through the abandoned city streets. The truck had two passengers in it, one obviously different from the first. The first was a male, who appeared around 45, and who was driving the Armored Personnel Carrier, was a male who some would say appeared Latin American in ancestry, as his co-driver, a apparently younger woman of middle eastern decent looked on the truck’s map of the city. “Hey Fatimah� said the driver, “Yeah Roberto, “ the woman responded, “I think I see some mercs near our location!� Roberto quickly stopped the van, as a symbol of the Trantor Empire was seen by the solders on the ground

The rain hammered down relentlessly, flooding the streets and the deserted buildings. The drainage system had given up the ghost when the people started to leave Metro City in droves, and those still remaining saw little point in fixing something that nobody would ever use. Critics of the Metro City mayor said this was typical of his tenure - the eastern side of the city got worse and worse, the western side saw no changes for the better, and most of the money in the coffers was funnelled straight into his account. The police force were nothing, most of them didn't even know it was going on, and those who did simply reaped the benefits. His combat jacket soaked through, the freelancer pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and picked his way across the soaked rubble. The voice calling for help sounded plaintive enough to be legitimate, but the soldiers fighting a losing battle against the Free Men had learned to adapt to their guerrilla warfare-style tactics.

He stumbled, putting his hand out against the nearby building to steady himself and accidentally firing off a round from the Desert Eagle still clutched tight in his left fist. Cursing out loud, he pressed up hard against the wet wall, praying the cry for help was true and he wasn't about to get ambushed. The only sounds were the distant rolls of thunder and the pattering of the continued rain, and the freelancer breathed easier. Like every man he knew, he'd accepted death would come for him soon, but it didn't stop him doing everything he could to prolong his life - he had too many things to do before he could go quiet into the dark night.

"Is anyone there?" came the shout again. Taking a dangerous chance, the freelancer replied.

"Yes. Keep talking and I'll find you."

Running his sharp blade on the wall along side of him. "I wonder if there are any survivors here" he says to himself while he conceals the big sword.

The flooding started to pick up the assault wagon, the transport’s own amphibious nature allowing it to move slowly in the torrential flooding, as Roberto tried to stabiles the van’s own movement through the waters, hoping that he would be able to get close enough to the ropers to rescue them.. Faitmah pointed towards the rear compartment, as one of the other militiamen in a suit of light powered body armor noticed her signal. “I’ll climb on top of the Van he said, as he climbed to the top hatch, and put out his hands to attempt to grasp the two other men “Hang on!� the man in the armor said.. “We are coming to save you!�

The sound of the van sloshing through the growing river had not gone unnoticed, and the freelancer had bailed hastily. While the soldier sounded like he needed help, he wasn't willing to actually give help if there was a chance he wouldn't make it out of there alive. Again slipping on the wet rubble, he ran back to his temporary hideout; keeping the shadows had stopped being necessary, since only one in every four or five streetlamps worked and the moon was hidden behind the storm clouds. Passing the bodies of the soldiers he'd killed earlier in the night, he banged on the side of the van as he passed. The sound would attract people and hopefully get them off his tail.

A couple of blocks down the road sat one of the many abandoned apartments on this side of town - it was unremarkable, bearing no differences to its neighbours, and so nobody was likely to go near it. The freelancer unlocked the front door, relocking and slamming the deadbolt home as he entered; as unlikely as it was that someone would try to get in, it still happened sometimes. Finding a door solidly locked usually deterred people for long enough so the freelancer could hide. Inside it was surprisingly cosy - since the power was still on to most of the building, it gave him heat and light, and the water was still pumping like normal. He'd looted a lot of food and drink, and whenever he ran low, he just had to steal some more. In fact, most of the furniture and comforts were stolen as well, looted from the apartments above him. All in all, it was a pleasant and secretive hideout.

Then someone knocked on the door.

With the deadbolts pushed home, it would take any intruder a good minute to break the door down, and so the freelancer had time to hide. Taking up the Desert Eagle lying on the arm of his easy chair and pulling one of the AK74 rifles from the gunrack mounted on the wall, he pushed hard on a section of the bare wall. Like something out of an old spy film, the wall moved inwards, swinging on a hinge hidden by the bookcase. The wall itself was only made of a thin plaster, so any prolonged attempt to find him wouldn't end well. From the hallway, the intruders kept banging on the door, harder and harder; breathing in, the freelancer swung the section of wall shut, and loaded the AK.

Outside, the unwelcome visitors broke down the door, the deadbolts coming away from their housing in the doorframe and clattering onto the ground. A full, ten-strong squad of soldiers fanned into the empty hall, those at the back with their rifles held ready, covering their colleagues ahead. Each was distinctive in some way - some wore flak jackets, some wore protective goggles, others wore insignia of rank. One of the latter, a pair of yellow crowns decorating his shoulder patches, knocked on the wall to get the attention of his men. Evidently their leader, he started issuing their orders with quick hand movement, sending a pair in the nearest room, another in the furthest, the remaining six up the stairs.

Trapped inside the cramped compartment, the freelancer pressed his face to a small hole in the wall. It wasn't big enough to be noticable, and it gave him some much-needed vision; as he watched, the door opened slowly and two soldiers walked in, rifles held tight to their shoulders. Feeling around, the freelancer's fingers hit a ledge above him, and he looked up - as he brushed around, a tight coil of wire fell down. It made a little noise, but not enough to anyone to hear, evidently; unlike his guns, the wire would be silent if he needed to use it. He'd flicked off all the electrical devices before he hid thankfully, and the soldiers were soon satisfied. One left - the other stayed, sitting in the freelancer's easy chair.

Delicately, he pressed the catch that kept the wall closed, and eased it open. He hadn't bothered with oiling the hinge or anything, but it was blessedly quiet; stepping out of the cramped space, the freelancer uncoiled the wire, wrapping it around his fists and pulling it tight. Fibre wire wasn't something he'd used to kill a man before, but it didn't look too taxing - all he had to do was make sure he put enough pressure on the windpipe. The victim wouldn't be able to shout, and they'd suffocate slowly, probably swallowing their own blood if you pressed on the windpipe hard enough to cut it. If he knew the mentality of these men, they'd have regular radio calls, and possibly even someone patrolling.

The radio buzzed, and a man's voice burst from it. "No sign of the bastard. We're moving up to the fourth floor." With eleven floors to the building, a plan began to form in the freelancer's head; taking off his battered boots, he hoped the soldier had small feet.

The man saw activity ahead, but he could barely talk any more. His voice was weak, and he could barely move- but had good armstrength at the moment. He took a large rock, dropping his weapon, and tossed it as hard as he could over the ridge, trying to land in near whoever was there. "Help." He whispered, trying to yell. It felt like he was being peirced by so many knives at once, he could barely keep from slipping away from the concious. He sighed and layed down on his stomach, waiting.

(Posts bracketed by -= =- are of Remy LeBeau, and those without brackets are of a small, twenty-man task force.)

-=He tore down the streets of Metro City on his red sports bike, weaving around the large piles of rubble and debree that had littered the streets from the past night's tragedy. His engine roared through the nealry desolate city as most of the remaining population had gone into hiding. He hoped his presence would bring them out of hiding and restore hope to the city, or better yet, lure his prey out from hiding. He had a hunch that he was responsible for this.=-

-=He found himself heading towards a caved in section of the street littered with the rubble of a collapsed nearby building. He revved the engine as he sped towards the pile of rubble. The wind blew his trench coat back into the air revealing the assortment of weapons he had since thought he had abandoned. He balanced the bike up a steel beam that lay on the pile of rubble and raced up the makeshift ramp. He soared through the air catching a glimpse of the city landscape through the red tint of his rectangle cut wire framed sunglasses. The destruction was rampant in nearly every sector of the city. The business district had skyscrapers that were still under construction leaning against each other, ready to fall at any instant. Sheet rock and metal fell from even the sturdiest built buildings. He caught a glimpse of the residential district to the north east... The center looked like a meteor had struck it. A waste land was all that remained in the aftermath of flames that raged all night throughout the suburbs. =-

-=A distant glimpse towards the graveyard in the north west showed what looked like a pilgrimage of the remaining city residents. The number of fatally wounded and dead seemed to nearly match the living populace of the city. The recovered bodies laid wrapped in white sheets as coffins were in short supply. A sorrow swept over the city that touched even his charisma. He came to a harsh land on streets below as he headed towards the bar. He cut the engine, beginning to feel ashamed of ruining the sorrow silence that now burdened the city. He came to a rolling stop in front of the bar as he gazed up at the sign that now read "Gambit's Bar & Inn." A sigh escaped his lips as he dismounted off the bike and made a slow walk towards the bar. He pushed open the door to the bar to gaze at the expectedly empty interior.=-

Under overcast skies the two black trucks rolled slowly down the street, the sparse traffic moving around them to get past. There were not so many people out after the explosions the early morning before. It was rumored that the attack heralded another of the magnitude of the ones some months ago.

But the trucks seemed unconcerned, taking their time before they came to a stop in front of the familiar bar. Silent and ominous, the tinted windows revealed nothing. There they waited, drawing a few glances from the occasional passerby, but nothing more than that. No one wanted to get involved in anything that could turn dangerous in the city these days.

-=He made his way towards the bar counter and took his rightful position behind bar. He saw the fleeting shadows of the few people left in this area running away from the bar. He glanced out the single window towards the ominous trucks that mysteriously stopped in front of the bar. Anything unusual in this town always brought an ominous black feel, his intuition was already beginning to ring in alarm. He slowly slid the shotgun strapped around his back into his hands. His breathing was shallow as he stared with anticipation.=-

Suddenly, as if by simultaneous order by some unseen hand, the doors of the van sprung open at once. Immediately, men clothed in black uniforms and light body-armor of the same color began pouring from the depths, a heavy rifle held in each of their iron grips. Helmets covered their heads, tinted visors disguising emotions.

They formed a column, charging toward the door, the first in line outright kicking it off the hinges before they swarmed inside, light footsteps carrying them over it, weapons raised and searching the interior.

“By order of His Excellency, Treize Khushrenada,� the man in front almost yelled, “the proprietors of this establishment must surrender themselves and come with us.�

-=He quickly dropped behind the counter for cover as he saw them surge into the bar. His left hand searched within his trench coat for a grenade. He waited silently, carefully listening to their foot steps. With the mention of Treize Khushrenada, a sudden surge of uncontrollable anger for his most hated nemesis streamed through his body. =-

-=He then yanked the pin of the grenade with his mouth and awaited their movements. The grenade in his hand was quickly beginning to grow a deep red from his own kinetic powers, in his mind he counted the seconds of delay that remained on the grenade. Leaving two seconds for flight, he lobbed the grenade over the bar counter. He clenched the shotty in his hands as he awaited the explosion that would rock the bar and eliminate most of the tables in the room.=-

Cautiously, tentatively they moved in, forming lines and moving to the side to allow more to enter. In all, with four rows of five counted, there were twenty soldiers, weapons at the ready, inside of Gambit’s Bar. No reply given to his proclamation, the man who had spoken gave a nod.

At once their guns opened fire, tearing through the surrounding tables and chairs, lodging bullets in walls , floors and other wood surfaces. Methodically, with the precision of the trained task force that it was, the fire covered every foot of the panorama before them.

Continuing for at least twenty seconds, the gunfire ceased abruptly as an explosion went off somewhere at the left side of the room. Thrown through the air, five of the men found themselves consumed in fire while three others, if they could find themselves at all, would do so to find their bodies entirely dismembered and shattered.

The remaining twelve immediately trained their weapons on the counter, smoke billowing from the grenade obscuring the vision of all in the room. Separating into groups of three, the soldiers stepped over the bodies of their comrades, guns once again blazing on their now determined target.

-=The bullets that tore through the bar would rip the old fashioned wooden look into pieces. Underneath the vinyl they would find sheat metal, a precaution learned from years of experience with this sort of situation. The oak tables, unfortunately were authentic and wound find themselves turned into little more than fire wood after the onslaught. Wallpaper was ripped to shreds and the paintings he set on the wall crumbled into piles of splintered wood. All the more rage to feel his establishment suffer through another tragedy. After the explosion ripped through one section of the bar, effectively uprooting three booth seats and tearing into the soldier's ranks, he could hear the bullets bounding into the bar itself and the granite counter top. He knew the plating wouldn't last long against high powered rifles and so he must act quickly. He tried to take advantage of the flames that were beginning to spread fueled by the oak tables. He grabbed hold of two bottles of alcohol in his left hand and lobbed them over the bar counter to spread the fire in front of the soldiers. He heard the roar of the flames surge with the added fuel, and at the same moment that the flames bellowed into a mini-fireball, he lifted himself off the ground with a sudden burst of adrenaline and turned towards the invasion force. He made his way towards the door to the back room as he began pumping blind rounds of shotgun shells into the ranks of the soldiers through the plumes of smoke. He was brisk to make his way into the door way leading to the back room, but feared not to continue firing the weapon until all seven shells had been emptied from the weapon, after which he sought sanctuary behind the closed doors of the back room. Knowing time was limited for him, he dropped the shotgun and replaced the weapons in his hands with one of his two .50 Desert Eagles, and in the left hand he flicked three playing cards. The creature that sat atop the building would find himself greeted with nothing but searing heat, smoke, and the orchestra of heavy arms weapons fire.=-

The fire did indeed catch quickly, and from it the soldiers fled, not out of the bar, but further into it. Remy’s form was clearly seen through the smoke in his mad dash for the backroom, taking out another two of the soldiers with the stray shotgun shells.

But the others, seeing the danger of remaining in the open, moved immediately to the sides and proceeded to rush the door in that formation. Guns placed directly against the wall, angled toward the space behind the door, they opened fire again, blowing out whatever locks would be in place.

Another soldier stepped forward, kicking at the door and aiming his weapon into the darkness as it flew open. Emptying round after round of gunfire into that darkness, he gave the order and they flooded further, now entering the backroom, making a circle so the guns faced all possible directions.

The explosion of still more gunfire drowned out the roaring fires in the other room, lighting the room for moments at a time with each shot, reflected on the slick visors of each man.

-=He shielded himself as the door suddenly flung open. He pressed his back against the wall, slowly side stepping away from the door into the shadows as he awaited for the inevitable surge once again. Meanwhile he was filling the three cards he held in his hand with kinetic energy which began to blow a deep red in sync with his eyes concealed behind the red lensed sunglasses he wore. He flung each card one at a time towards the entrance of the door hoping to reduce the numbers for a better chance in melee combat - his only alternative left for survival. Once his left hand was free, he tore the extendable metal staff he carried along his left thigh from the cloth straps. With a push of a button, the spring released within the contraption and extended the pole to its full five foot length and ejecting the three inch blade at the far end. He dashed along the perimeter of his living quarters in the back room randomly firing shots from his Desert Eagle towards the entrance of the door way. Knowing his poor aim while he sprinted would be mostly ineffectual; it would at least provide enough of a distraction to raise the soldier's fears. Once the chamber was empty, he called upon his numerous years of acrobatic training from the Thief's Guild as he launched himself sideways into the air. He performed a side flip into the center of the circle the soldier's had created, landing low to the ground in a crouch. The next moment would determine his fate as he swung the staff in a circle above his head, the blade end rounding the entirety of the 360 degree circumference. Counting on the soldier’s stupidity alone, he had hoped they would train their aim upon him in mid air and continue firing on his descent down into the center of the circle, thusly slaughtering their own kin in the same process. =-

The cards collided with the doorframe as the last soldier passed through it, incinerating him and his associate in front of him almost instantly. Barely a glance was given by the other troops to the newest explosion, helmets peering into the darkness as the remaining eight, in their circle formation, scanned the room.

Shots were firing all around them as Remy made his acrobatic navigation of the room, glancing off the armor as each bullet only grazed them. One soldier was not so lucky, however, the sick crack of his visor shattering signifying the passage of a bullet into his head.

As he slumped to the floor the circle closed in further, covering the gap is passing had created. Then they heard the rush of air as Remy, soaring over them, made to land in the center of that formation. True, they did follow his passage overhead with more bullets, but as soon as he began to land the gunfire cut out. No efficient task force would be caught with that trick.

Immediately they stepped back, some who were too slow being caught up in the arc of Remy’s staff; one soldier sliced across the throat while two others, cut on the legs, merely fell backward. Immediately now they opened fire again, guns aimed downward at an angle with no danger of hitting their team members.

(References hereafter to the party that enters the room are of Alucroas, enclosed in +’s for brackets. His previous posts are excluded in a move to limit the content of this topic.)

+Stood up alas shaking off the brunt force of the attack impacting it's frame, quivering rather uncontrollably, palpitations started to erupt and surge forth through the air. Compression of oxygen in it's mouth began to commence, electrons being smashed together due to the small vicinity of which they occupied. The creature was distraught and ready to cause more carnage and rip apart whatever had attacked it's form. Continuing it's paced tread on the ground, vocal chords started rubbing together causing a friction stimulus followed up by large torrents of swarming wind, concentrating around it's horns, spiralling and creating the epicenter by dragging downwards into t's maw. It had entered the fary once more, heading straight into the buildings ravaged surface, the flames surely now being reduced to smoldering billows of ash clouds. It caught sight of the door that had been kicked down, noticing the screaming and chaos going on within that single room. Abruptly the attack was let loose right in the doorway; Massive gusts of wind, accompanied by a loud frequency attack known as a sonic boom, all moving in unison with the electrical energy being dispersed out and into the open room, striking random objects at random times, hoping to incinerate whatever it was that caused pain to it's being. ... +

-=Bullets rittled the ceiling overhead as he landed in the center of the circle, allowing a small rain of white smoke to drizzle down into the room from the bullet holes. Unfortunately for him the plan had not gone entirely as expected as he underestimated the efficiency of Treize's goons. He sensed the dangerous situation he had placed himself in and suddenly flung his body into a back flip out of his crouched position. His crouch had been his downfall, as that extra fraction of a second it took for him to lift off the ground had cost him the calf of his left leg as a bullet punctured through his flesh from a quick-draw shooter directly behind him. His body had managed to lift off the ground, but not with nearly enough momentum, and he found himself crashing into the visor of the soldier behind him, back first. As he descended to the ground with the soldier behind him, a second bullet grazed across his right tricep, just enough to render the muscle dysfunctional. The pair fell back, the soldier's head crashed into the ground under the weight of his body. The pistol he carried in his right hand fell limp as he found himself unable to lift it without his tricep. Not that it mattered since the chamber and magazine were both empty. He gazed towards the soldiers defiantly as his mind raced in search of possible escape. His left hand clenched firmly around the staff as he hoped for a miracle. Just then he could hear the screech of some massive force tear into the room from the doorway sweeping over the entirety of his living quarters. With himself in such poor condition, all he could do his roll himself under the bed and hope he survived the nightmarish torrent.=-

The screeching entrance of the other into the room was not heeded as Remy’s form was followed. As he landed with one of the troops they continued to fire, some bullets hitting the poor soldier beneath him, but most right on target of the bar’s proprietor.

As he rolled beneath the bed, one of the soldiers leapt on top of it, gun’s muzzle pressed against the mattress as he fired directly down. The whirling mass of whatever had recently entered enveloped only one of the soldiers, the others becoming far more wary as they heard his brief interlude of screaming before it was silenced.

As another man joined the one atop the bed in firing into it, the others aimed their bullets at the creature, round after round following its motions as they spread out in a move to eliminate both targets. Their assignment had been clear: to eliminate all obstacles in the building. They would not return to base empty-handed for their troubles.

+The torrent was whirling about the area, tearing down walls and incinerating whatever more solid remains that was left within the vicinity of the room. An abrupt snap of the soldiers began fiering at the creature's rather large form, despite it being large in size, it's masculine long body made it relatively easy to close it's wings to a half section, giving a quick concentration of energy they both flapped inbetween the doorway unleashing a hailstorm of electrical energy into the storm of bullets, reducing them to a more flat surface. Instead of being drilled into it would be pelted by a large amount of 'rocks'. Thankfully most were deflected by it's horns and the tail's bone which was carved out in the shape of a dagger, the result would be the creature being smacked against the bed, causing a it to flip up and over, go flying into the soldiers, the box frame acting as a sort of unintentional weapon and simultaneous shield along with a brisk sweep it's muscular tail, aiming to gash one with the dagger bone and smack into the other with the brunt foce behind it. ... +

-=He saw the indentation underneath the bed as the weight of one soldier pressed against the cushion. However his reaction time was not quick enough to save him from another round slamming into his shoulder, splattering blood both onto the ground behind him and onto the surface of the bed below him. He let out a scream of pain that was mixed with further rage and determination. He retracted the staff to his condensed size with the push of a button and swung it up towards the indentation of the soldier's right foot. As he swung up into the bed with his left arm, he pressed ejected the staff to it's full length once again, combining the force of his arm with momentum gained from the spring. The blade ripped through the hollow spaces in the box spring and through the cushion. The blade would intercept the sole of the soldier's boot and lay claim to the flesh of it's heel and cutting into the primary nerves around the Achilles tendon. He wouldn't stop there though, as red kinetic energy poured into the staff's profile. He saw the second soldier leap on top of the bed, but he knew better than to fall victim to the same ploy twice, and so he rolled his body out from underneath the bed as a second wave of bullets tore into through his bed. Just as he escaped certain death yet again, he was greeted with the torrential winds that had been wreaking havoc upon his room. His dresser was in shambles, his clothes being shredded to pieces, his worldly possessions no longer recognizable under the destruction. This coupled with the explosion resulting from the charged staff sent him flying across the room into his closet. His body slammed against the wall in the back of his closet and promptly fell to the ground. A streak of blood stained the wall from where he had crashed to his current crumpled being. His mind was in a daze as he tried to collect himself again, faint images of some unknown creature ravaging his room becoming dominant, but passed off as illusions of a potentially damaged skull.=-

The soldier’s foot almost ripped apart by the staff, he fell backward from the bed, landing as his head struck the floor, bullets firing into the ceiling, his trigger finger no long under control. The other soldier was thrown from the bed as it was struck by Alucroas, his body hurled into the wall, indenting the surface with an imprint of his shoulder.

The others chased after the creature’s soaring form, firing round after round into his back, Remy for the moment gone from their minds. Some of the bullets would find their way toward the closet, but for the most part they would be lodged in the mattress or Alucroas itself.

With only two soldiers left able to function, they took up a strategic position, one kneeling as the other stood over him, weapons trained on the target and firing in unison. The kneeling one took from his belt a small, metal sphere with a single button. Pressing it once, he hurled it toward the box-spring, and in that, the closet as well.

They rushed from the room, treading quickly backwards to keep their weapons raised at all times. One more sphere was pulled from the belt, activated, and this one thrown into the center of the floor. Finally turning their backs, they ran, leaping over the lightly burning remains of the fire to exit the bar altogether, leaping into the first van as all doors shut behind them.

Engines revving, the vehicles moved off at a break-neck pace and were soon gone, disappeared amidst the carnage of the twisting streets.

+Couldn't contemplate what the hell was exactly going on but soon after the sphere had hit it's bed only one thing came to mind. A massive explosion would probably be the next thing to come. It had quickly gotten up from behind the boxspring mattress, launching it's large body directly at the last soldier leaving through the door, aiming to plunge it's inner-mouth into the back of his neck, thrusting the dagger bone of it's tail straight through his spine, rendering him utterly immobile and clearly in a dead state of being. Afterwards, it began a crazed dash straight outside and out into the open where it would start chasing after the van, using it's sapphire orb in combination with it's crimson orb to detect the heated up exhaust fumes coming from the vehicle moving at such a rapid speed, while detecting the ever sporadic synapses rocketing and fiering off bursts of electrical impulses through their bodies. Those same closed wings then begun flapping a vicious flap, taking the monster high into the air, gathering an electrical beam within it's mouth as it chased down the vehicle. ...
Inside the van, the soldier established a direct line of contact. Speaking clearly, knowing that his message would reach its source, he began. “Your Excellency, we have done all we can do. The task force will terminate immediately.�+

-=His mind was beginning to clear out of it's daze and the ringing had finally subsided from being thrown against the wall. His view was obstructed from the closet and so the creature was still invisible to him. He slowly began to drag himself out of the closet as he heard gun shots firing throughout the room. He was using his left arm and right leg to simultaneously push and pull his body out of the closet towards the back exit. Just as he was nearing his destination, a stray bullet had caught a weak point in the light red body armor plating he wore which cracked under the force of high powered ammunition and allowed the bullet into his flesh. It struck him in the right side, grazing just a centimeter above his kidney and tearing through the muscle on his right love handle. He collapsed for a moment as he suppressed another shrill of pain. By now his body was releasing the natural pain killers which were dulling his senses. He continued on his plight towards the exit door leaving a trail of red marking his path. Behind him he could hear the sound of a metal bouncing off the floor, the “ting� that by now he knew all too well. This was followed by a second one coming from the closet he was just in. He quickly twisted the knob on the door and with a heave that strained every functional muscle in his arms and legs, he pulled himself out of the bar and laid flat on the ground under the shield of the bar’s metal-framed wall. He awaited the inevitable destruction to ensue as he bled his life away in the back alley. The back room erupted into a fireball as one of the grenades went off, laying waist to what little recognizable substance remained in the back room. His closet soon followed suit as another eruption occurred, ripping what remained of the sliding doors in the closet off their tracks and into the opposing wall. The grenade met the make maximum tolerance of the metallic frame due to it's close proximity to the wall and a hole punctured through the sheet metal allowing for a brief flame to erupt out of the gap. The third finally went off in the front room of the bar, taking with it what remained of the booths and destroying the lighting. The ceiling collapsed in on itself and fire raged once again upon the bar's interior, though there left very little to burn. That is, until a spark caught hold of the alcohol that lay behind the bar, which formed a fourth explosion, so grand in it's force that it knocked out the wall that seperated the front of the bar from the back. A plume of smoke and flame with the scent of tequilla rose above the bar visible from miles away.=-

Inside the van, the soldier established a direct line of contact. Speaking clearly, knowing that his message would reach its source, he began. “Your Excellency, we have done all we can do. The task force will terminate immediately.�

At once the vans came to a screeching halt, no doubt allowing the creature to get closer. Mere moments later there was an explosion that would rip apart the street, emanating first from one car, then the other. Their assignment was finished.

LATER…

The overcast clouds were turning darker; much darker than they had been before. The tainted light created strange shadows in the office, and it was in one of those shadows that Treize sat, head back and eyes closed. The report of the bar attack had reached him, and if what he was told was true, the results were disappointing.

It appeared that Remy had survived the fight. Not only that, but after the attack was over Renee LeBeau, his daughter, showed herself on the scene. The timing could not have been worse. Had she been just a bit earlier to arrive...

He sighed, standing so abruptly that the chair slid back a few inches from him, hands dipping into his pockets as he walked slowly toward the window. His gaze was always on the ground.

That cold, blank gaze swept the city, drained of any type of emotion. So this was it. He had laid his hand on the table and invited the next move to be made. There, high above everything, he would wait for the white knight he was sure would name himself soon and rush to face him. He was not worried. This might even be the only thing he was looking forward to.

Ultimate Xavier awoke, crippled and broken from the destruction wrought upon him by Donny's destruction. The humming buzz of his fabled prodigies was nowhere to be found, the crater immense and decimation clear. It seemed in a last-ditch effort, he'd managed to survive, but he was foggy on the details.

Grasping at the rubble, he clawed his way to his knees, resting against a large concrete boulder. Calling out, he screamed in anguish.

Aggggggggggh!

his voice echoed into the ruins of Metro City, bouncing back with a hollow shadow of what the great metropolis had once been. Was there anyone out there, or was he the only survivor?