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The Multiverse

Neo Nagasaki

a part of “The Multiverse”, a fictional universe by Remæus.

Where legends collide, warriors rise, and titans fall. This is a massive open world that you are free to explore and interact with; a sandbox for your characters.

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Where legends collide, warriors rise and titans fall. This is the general in character world, where your creations can rise to fame driven only by your imagination - this is the persistent world in which all characters exist. This whole forum is one big roleplay, with no specific rules or guidelines. If you want to create a roleplay in a single thread, this probably isn't where it needs to be.

Remember - this whole forum is one persistent world - your characters are free to move from topic to topic here with no restrictions.

Neo Nagasaki

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Mon Jan 23, 2006 11:24 pm

A city at war...

This city has no name. Sure, it might say "Neo Nagasaki" on the maps, but to the citizens of the city, it changes like the tide. This city is ruled by no official government. The police are terrified to stop the blatant corruption around them. No, this city is ruled by money. Toward the beginning of the A.C. era, Nagasaki was nothing more than a nuclear wasteland. Several large corporations saw this as the perfect opportunity to make a city of their own. Working together, they built a massive platform over the ruins. A radiation shield was installed beneath the platform, with several toggle zones for dumping out radioactive waste. For a time, this city flourished. Trade boomed, nuclear power was abundant and waste was easily disposed. Life had never been sweeter, as they say. But there was a problem, perhaps one that should have been evident from the beginning. The problem that befalls all alliances and cooperations, given enough time: Avarice. The corporations all wanted control of the city they created, and no one wanted to merge with anyone else.

Now, in the year 202 A.C., the same war that began so many years back rages on. Ignoring formalities such as negotiations, most of the companies assault one another head on, using hired guns as well as their own men. A good mercenary could make a killing in this city, and a bad one could make a killing for someone else. The smartest folks are the ones who cut out when they hit it big, and move on with their lives.

OOC: Alright. After much refining between myself, Master, and SinfulSoul, this has come together. A few basics. First, it's expected that players will take positions as higher-ups in companies, though this is entirely up to the player. If you want to own a Corp., be a field commander, or just be some peon on the front lines, it's fine. The vast majority of the soldiers, however, will be NPCs. Thus, this is a very action-oriented side story. Killing an NPC has no special rules. Point and shoot, basically. No counter-post required from the player owning the NPC. However, I would ask you not go crazy with this, I.E., don't go through and waste a squad of NPCs in one post, give the other player a chance to get in on the battle. Fights can happen anywhere, any time. In buildings, on the streets, in the air, in the ocean. Doesn't matter. I would ask that Mobile Suit warfare not be excluded, but kept to a relative minimum. This is meant as more of a shooter.

As well, killing a player IS a more complicated ordeal. I'll say, work it out how to do it. Turnbased combat, AIM, or just plain agree to die, whatever you want to do.

As an added perk, you can cut out and run at any time. Take a boat, take a train, take a shuttle, whatever. When you do cut out, a council (just Sinful and I, thus far) will review your actions and you will get money depending on how you do. As such, don't expect if you enter for a day and then jam out.

In the way of corporations, you can make one yourself, you can join up with one, or you can just be a hired gun, available to the highest bidder. As I've said enough in this post, whatever. It's up to you.

ALL are welcome to this, Veteran and newbie alike.

Master, Sinful, if I've missed anything, feel free to edit it in.

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Arming the Hoard

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby SinfulSoul on Wed Jan 25, 2006 10:32 pm

Giovanni Medici XIII

Medici tried to make do with his sub-standard living in the mansion he had seized for himself. One day had passed already, and it was 11 PM. Peace had lasted for too long, especially since he hadn’t gained full control over the city yet. While he waited for his headquarters and future home to be built, he sorted through files marked as “confidential” by some of the former business executives of now obsolete companies. Medici’s goal was to dominate not just one particular illegal market, but all of the available underground markets. You could say it was Medici tradition to control… Well, everything. Judging by the files he went through, one of the most consistent names to hit the top of every list of competitors was Soldier, Inc. It appeared their major line of business was weapons trade, and it seemed they were a very successful company filling orders in unbelievable masses for dozens of countries and rebel factions. Medici’s hired men could always use new toys, but he didn’t like paying for them. The reports he obtained listed many known Soldier, Inc. warehouses. One of them was conveniently located not far from the edge of his own district. It was time to have another raiding party.

Medici was reviewing these reports in a large king sized canopy bed. With the simple push of a button by his bedside, a group of four men immediately barged through the door. He pointed at one and motioned him to come over. He handed him a single piece of paper from the reports he was reading through that listed details on the location of one of the warehouses.

"I want everything inside that; kill everyone there. Round up 15 men of the militant squad downstairs. Take MacArthur as well to lead the team, I don’t want anyone fucking this up."

Within half an hour, the team had already been assembled, briefed, armed, and packed into five armored Humvees, MacArthur in the third Humvee - three men in each Humvee. They were driving down the streets at high speeds. They didn’t want any onlookers to see where they were headed and alert their enemies of their movement. The strike force used the cover of night and complete radio silence to help conceal their locations. The objective was another blitzkrieg tactic; quick and surprising penetration to rape their victims. Each of the five Humvees was equipped with double barrel rocket launchers. Medici had made it clear he didn’t want the warehouse, he wanted everything inside. They barged through any barbed wire and fences that blocked their way bringing them onto the perimeter of the warehouse. Once within range, the Humvees spread out into a horizontal line. Three of the Humvees launched their rockets dead center towards the closest wall to them in an attempt to blow hole large enough for a sizeable team to enter. The other two launched their rockets at the ground in front of the warehouse. The explosion that resulted from these two rockets would create two large holes in the ground big enough to provide cover for 3 men each. The men then disembarked from their vehicles, leaving just one in each to man the rocket launchers (Team C). One man from each Humvee would take cover behind the vehicles and provide covering fire from any external opposition (Team B). The remaining five men plus MacArthur would make a mad sprint and dive into the holes they had created for cover (Team A). This team would be the lead killing machines comprised of the more combat experienced members of the team. From here on out, it was fairly simple. Execute all and secure the perimeter. Piece of cake…

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Wed Jan 25, 2006 10:57 pm

The call was put out mere moments after the side of the warehosue exploded open. One of the guards in the warehouse hit a single red button. Every Soldier, Inc. installation in the city had one of these, and all were satellite linked to the Soldier, Inc. headquarters, residence of Chrono, the big boss, and Rain, the deadly boss.

Four armored vans with a 50 cal. machine guns mounted on the roof of each sat in the sub-terrainian parking garage of the headquarters, among other vehicles. Each one contained 7 highly trained soldiers. Their job was to sit in their vans, smoke, chat, and play cards. Until they got the Call. When their time came, they moved out without further prompting. Built-in GPS systems to each van displayed the location of whatever building had pressed the red button.

Now was their time. Even as they arranged themselves - four in the back, two up front, and one sitting in the gunner's seat of the 50 cal, which was half above the van, and half within - one lone figure could be seen bolting from the stairs, moving as fast as he could while strapping a bullet-proof vest over a skin-tight black shirt. The instant it was on, he whirled a black trenchcoat over his shoulders, concealing the mass of weapons beneath. The final touch was the AR-15 he swung over his shoulder to criss-cross the sword concealed beneath the coat. Even as this latter action was performed, he leapt over the rear end of a tank of a bike. About the length of a low-rider, it was double the width of your everage motorcycle, with a pair of wheels in the front and rear, as opposed to the usual single. The rider sat in the crotch-rocket position, making firing on a moving target very easy.

The five vehicles pulled out almost simultaneously. It would take maybe a minute at most to reach this particular 'house at full speed.


Of the ten guards in the warehouse, one had been killed in the explosion, and a second thrown from a balcony above the explosion and wounded, most likely mortally. That left eight, moved into the best they could do for full-spectrum cover. Three men stood on a catwalk almost dead center in the middle of the warehouse, running adjecent to the demolished wall. A second catwalk, this one circling around the entire length of the warehouse, contained a man on either side of the hole, aiming at it from a 45 degree angle, ready to fire upon anything they could spot through the billow of smoke.

Of the final three, one stood in each of the far corners of the room, relative to the demolished wall, and the final stood directly opposite the room from the hole, all three mostly concealed by ammunition crates, sticking out just enough to take aim on the hole. In this situation, Chrono's word to them on their day of joining floated back to each of them:
"If there's danger, drop your morals. Drop your conscience, you're common sense, your thinking, drop it all. You just do one thing: shoot ANYTHING that doesn't have a Soldier uniform."

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby SinfulSoul on Thu Jan 26, 2006 12:54 am

Giovanni Medici XIII
Team A took the moment of surprise to their advantage as much as possible. The team’s weapons were already loaded and their strike strategy was flawless in their minds. They took this moment of surprise as the smoke still rose from the explosions to ready their devices of destruction. All three of the strike teams were comprised of the same basic setup. Two of the five men carried XM29 OICW rifles with 203 attachments. One of the men carried an M249 Minimi SAW used primarily for cover fire. The other two carried standard issue M4A1 rifles with scope mounts and silencers for stealthy accurate fire. MacArthur however carried a different set of weapons. In his right hand he held a Calico M100 .22LR submachine gun with 100 round magazine. Strapped across his back is a Benelli M3T shotgun.

MacArthur was located in the right of the two holes. He quickly put on his night vision goggles to give him a decent scan of the area and a quick peak into the dark depths of the hole inside. With his quick scan, the two obvious enemies were located at the far end in the corners on either side ready to fire at the hole, but he missed the one hiding behind the crate. He quickly relayed the information to his squad, then pointed to the two grenadiers. They switched to their 203s and within moments they aimed and fired their 203s to follow a long an arced path. The grenadier from the left hole fired to the right corner, and the one in the right hole fired toward the left corner. Their 203s would ignite well on target, exploding on impact against the corners of the warehouse. They reloaded their 203s and awaited further instructions.

Simultaneously, the men back at the Humvees were hard at work as well. Each Humvee had a double barrel rocket launcher, and since each Humvee only launched one rocket they all had one more to fire before requiring reload. The obvious enemies were the two standing out in the open on the balcony above the hole they had made. The 2nd Humvee fired an RPG toward the one standing to the left, and the 4th Humvee fired an RPG to the one standing on the right, causing even further destruction to the wall. They then began their reload process while Team B provided random cover fire towards suspected enemy locations on the balcony or warehouse. The general idea of firing continuously was to give the impression that the force they had was much larger than it really was.

Back to Team A in their hideout holes, once the RPG’s and 203s had hit, it was time to make their advance. The blitzkrieg tactic would be pointless if they didn’t push into the warehouse immediately. MacArthur gave the order to begin entry. The SAW operator immediately began pumping round after round into the hole of the warehouse for what would appear to be suppressing fire, but in reality he was actually aiming for any visible lights he could see from his position. One person threw a timed release smoke grenade through the hole. Before the smoke grenade ignited, another two threw a total of two flash grenades into the opening. The short time delay on the flash bangs made them explode while still in the air inside the warehouse, allowing for maximum range of effectiveness in all directions. This served two purposes. Not only were the flash bangs used to blind and deafen the enemy, but they were also a signal that Team A was getting ready to move in. At that moment, Team B would begin to advance away from the Humvees and make their way into the holes that Team A was in.

The smoke grenade then popped as the fuse went off, causing a white haze to fill the general area. At this moment, all six members of Team A would simultaneously emerge from their dugouts and enter through the warehouse hole. The first thing they learned about entering a facility in training was to spread out. It was obvious that no one would be able to see through the haze, but at the same time they would not be able to see out from inside the smoke either. They immediately dispersed themselves once they were inside the warehouse, finding cover behind various crates and supporting structures. By sound alone, it was obvious that there were three people shifting around upstairs on a metal balcony, but the density of the fog coupled with the dim light made it too difficult to find an exact target, and at this point they didn’t want the enemy to know they had entered. They would have to wait for the fog to lift and hope for getting the first shot. Three members raised their guns in the ready position while the other three focused on looking around for other enemies. From now on MacArthur would have to rely on radio to keep in contact with the other two teams. The real firefight would begin when the white haze finally dispersed.

Just as Team A exited the holes, moments later they were filled again with members from Team B, two in the hole on the right and three in the hole on the left. They would continue to keep things safe outside.

To a spectator, the preceding events would have been the greatest spectacle of lights ever imaginable. Though the carnage that is taking place distracts the combating forces from seeing the beauty of their performance, it was a luxury that only those of great power could obtain. Giovanni Medici stared out of a balcony window and upon his high hill, and even higher mansion, he was able to gaze down upon the scene while sipping on a glass of rich red wine. He smiled in satisfaction, then murmured briefly to himself.

"Oh the things I get to see in my travels. I will definitely enjoy taking control of you, Neo-Nagasaki."

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Thu Jan 26, 2006 11:58 pm

Seven men sat in the depths of the second van in the convoy to the warehouse. Most men might be silent, sick with nerves, and jittery as fuck, driving into a place where such letha sounds had just emitted, carried far and wide through the streets of the city, but the men of response team Romeo, subteams Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta, were battle-hardened and trained to the core.

"So, what if the guards are still in there somewhere? The lights're bound to be out, it'll be up to GPS to determine friend from foe, and guards aren't implanted with such a chip." This from the man who sat on the lefthand side of the rear of the van. He was speaking casually, as though discussing a new health plan (which was a joke. Soldier had its own medical facility, but in this unit, if you needed a hospital, it was almost guaranteed you'd be DOA), while double-checking his Desert Eagle Mark XIX.

replied the man sitting in the passenger seat. He turned around and flashed a grin they all knew, and all had worn at one time or another. The grin of a man who knows he's about to get his appetite for death filled in full. "Standard proceedure. Once we breach the building, we're going to announce ourselves, and that's their cue to escape. Beyond that... shoot anything that ain't us or Rain."

Low chuckles filled the van at his remark. Without warning from the driver, the van skidded to a stop next to the leader of the convoy. The two behidn them pulled up likewise, completely blocking the drive into the factory, parked behind four Humvees. The four men piled out of the back as the driver and passenger dropped behind the open armored doors. Oblivious to them -- they had learned to tune this particular sound out -- until they exited, the seventh man of each van had been firing since they entered the warehouse's drive. Firing on the Humvees. The four men that exited from each van's rear took cover behind it, awaiting the word that the Humvee gunners were down.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby SinfulSoul on Fri Jan 27, 2006 4:49 pm

Smoke inside the warehouse slowly dissipated making it finally easier to see the enemies that were on the balcony above them. The guards were still disoriented from the flashbangs and nearly half deaf with a ringing in their ears. This made them easy pickings, and gunfire echoed throughout the large open building. Moments later, three dead men were lying on the balcony with multiple gun shot wounds. Blood was already dripping through the holes on the walkway. MacArthur was carefully scanning the rest of the building with his nightvision goggles in search of other enemies. The single guard that had previously been overlooked in the back of the building had nowhere left to go without being noticed, and the moment he stuck his head out from behind the crates to see what the gunshots were all about, MacArthur's eagle eyes found him. MacArthur fired a volley of shots in that general direction, and though the accuracy of his Calico deteriorated over a distance, the range the enemy was at was still within a couple hundred meters making it fairly easy to hit. The crates shielded the guard from several of the shots, but it only took one lucky bullet straight through the left eye and into the man's brain to take him down permanently. The team briskly advanced through the warehouse making their way to the back, and a quick inspection would prove the area to be secure. MacArthur got onto his radio to inform Team B of their progress.


Team B had a fairly easy job. It seemed fairly peaceful on the outside now that the dust had begun to settle. That is, until the loud sound of several .50 caliber machine guns began ripping through the darkness. No one on their team had any .50 caliber machine guns, so it was obvious it was not friendly fire. They then realized they were not alone out here, and that somehow there was another force attacking. The sound of bullets hitting metal and sparks flying told everyone that the Humvees were under attack, but from where? The scream of the man in the 2nd Humvee and a spray of blood put everyone on high alert. The bright lights of the firing weapons could be seen moving in the distance and the sound of multiple high powered engines drew in closer to their location. Team C turned their rocket launchers around on their turret platforms, but by now the gunner of the 3rd Humvee had been struck multiple times. Four vans came into view, firing upon the Humvees with vigor, taking down the gunners of the first and fourth Humvee simultaneously. The fifth gunner on the Humvee attempted to fire an RPG, but was struck exactly at the same time he launched the RPG. As the gunner recoiled back from being struck, his hands were still on the rocket launcher and the aim had been thrown off. The RPG sailed in between two of the vans and struck a building in the distance behind them. The members of Team B attempted radio contact with members of Team C, but it was evident that Team C had been eliminated. The members of Team B set their aim in the direction of the Humvees. The M249 SAW carrier set himself up in the supported position to give him better accuracy.

At this same time, MacArthur was attempting to contact Team B. Once contact was established, MacArthur had priority on first say, and the information on their success was passed on. Afterwards MacArthur recieved information on the new development outside and the loss of Team C. Team A immediately backtracked toward the hole in the warehouse, but stayed in cover behind crates so as not to let the enemy know of their position. The member of Team A carrying the M249 SAW made a dash for the left hole (the hole the other SAW carrier was not in) and dove into the hole. He too set himself up in the supported position to offer additional fire power. Once the two were set up, they immediately released a belt of 200 bullets each in the direction of the armored vans, but careful not to hit their own Humvees. The Humvees would serve a crucial purpose still that could lead to their ultimate victory or their ultimate loss. The vans were pelted with heavy gunfire and stopped exactly at the end of the 200 bullet belt to prevent further unnecessary ammo depletion.

The soldiers would never back down from a fight. These were among the many militant groups shipped from Europe who had been in Medici's service for many years. They had seen younger soldiers return to Medici with failures. They had seen the anguish those who had failed him suffered before their eventual death in torture pits. The torture pits were used primarily to punish Medici's rivals and enemies, but returning with failure made you an enemy in his eyes. You were treated the same. Failure meant a loss in resources and time.

MacArthur lay in the prone position and gazed out the hole in the warehouse for a few moments at a time to get quick, safe glimpses of the surrounding environment. He was trying to get an enemy headcount and watch their movements.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Tue Jan 31, 2006 9:55 pm

29 elite soldiers had departed from Soldier's headquarters. As it stood, 16 were leaning against the backs of the vans, four to a van. 3 sat in the half-and-half seats on the tops of the vans, crouching low behind the .50 cal weapons before them. 5 pressed against the doors of the vans they had arrived in. That left 5 soldiers not in their combat positions. 3 lay on the ground before the doors they'd been covered by. 2 were legshot, 1 caught unluckily in the skull by a stay. 1 sat mortally wounded in his gunner's seat, pouring intestinal blood over the gun and roof of the van.

That left one soldier. Where was this soldier? The same place the best soldier always goes for, when the distraction is effectively placed at the front door: the back door.

Or, more accurately, the underground door. The plate the city was built on was fitted with a multitude of tunnels used to drain nuclear waste into the ruins of Nagasaki. Soldier, however, had retrofitted the tunnels in its area of influence to be means of small-craft transport. The only region still used for waste drain was a small segment which contained a nuclear power plant, and two storehouses. One for bombs, one for various weapons, both of a radioactive nature; they were well sealed from the transport tunnels.

Rain sped along on just one such tunnel, his bike taking easily to the smooth, dry surface of the material -- likely stainless steel, but he didn't really know. He could see well down here, but it was far from bright. A few flourescents puttered overhead, humming their maddening hum and casting their cold glow on the spotless, faded green walls.

The General let off the throttle as he neared a comparatively brighter region, where a bulge with an exit on each end temporarily replaced the tunnel. Standing dead in the center was a stairwell, leading up to a modest trap door. Rain hit the brakes, the rear tires letting off whitish smoke as the man drifted smoothly to a stop next to the stairwell.

"First floor: Bombs, Bazookas, and Bad-Guys..."

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby SinfulSoul on Sat Feb 04, 2006 1:02 am

MacArthur couldn't get a clear head count of the enemies, but he did notice a man fatally wounded in one of the 50 cal gunner positions on top of a van. He immediately knew what his prerogative was, and sought to make an impression on the enemy forces. Between MacArthur and his known enemies stood a few things of importance. Just a few yards ahead of MacArthur's position inside the warehouse were the two holes Team B was dug in to along with M249er from Team A. Around 50 yards ahead of them were the line of Humvees they had ridden in on, and some short distance away were the Vans. This situation made things seem a bit easier for MacArthur and his team.

Again the total four surviving grenadiers of his squad were ordered through quick shouts and points to ready their 203s. But this time, in addition to the grenadiers another rifle carrying unit would pull the pin on a grenade and start counting the seconds. The M249s again would offer a barrage of suppressing fire toward the vans making it dangerous for them to move. As the M249s lit the night air with their heated flashy bullets, three of the four grenadiers would fire at the vans. The fourth one with the best angle from within the warehouse wold fire upon the closest Humvee to the vans to make it appear as if it were a poorly aimed shot. While the other three M203s were geared to kill the gunners or make the 50 cals inoperable, the hidden meaning behind the fourth was to puncture a significant hole in the armor plating on the Humvees. Thanks to the mere light armor plating on the vehicles, nearly the whole side had been blown off of the Humvee.

Just as the M203s had been fired, the rifleman with the hand grenade lobbed it over the long distance toward the nearly half destroyed Humvee. The Humvees were equipped with RPG launchers, and each of these Humvees stored additional ammo under the metal casings of the seats. A combination of the 203 and the grenade would be more than enough to rip into the mild armor of the vehicle casings, causing a chain reaction with the stored explosives and fuel. The resulting explosion would pass on to the neighboring Humvee, causing yet another explosion that would continue down the line in succession.

As the explosions repeated time and time again, the soldiers hid low in their small cramped gopher holes to shield themselves from the mass of flying shrapnel. All that remained were the flaming chassis of each Humvee that brought some light around the area where the enemies were, making it easier to see any survivors. Once the flying shrapnel had found a solid home, the rifleman pulled themselves over the rim of their holes to fire around the tires and underneath the vans to clip any fallen enemies and ensure their death. Meanwhile, the M249 gunners reloaded their weapons. The next step, in their eyes, was victory.

Giovanni Medici was sitting at a table on his outdoor balcony from his own Chamber. A British butler was serving him a brief snack of assorted fruits and Indian Chaii - direct import of course - just as the explosions had gone off in the distance. The sound seemed light from their distance, but the bright light in a dark city was definitely noticeable. Giovanni smiled in awe as if he were staring at a piece of artwork. It wasn't so much about the show, but more about gazing down at his little ants quarreling because of his whim. It was this kind of power that made his pains of living in homes below his standards worth while.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Sat Jul 01, 2006 12:38 am

The lone soldier smiled as he reached the top of the stairwell: this was always his favorite part. Not so much the killing or the big explosion, but the sheer high of an adrenaline rush. He'd only done this twice before, so this didn't carry with it the certainty of survival that most combat activities did for him.

The small backroom atop the staircase held but three items within its otherwise barren quarters: a large control console for controlling the warehouse's power, a single viewscreen giving a top-down view of the interior of the building (currently giving a lively view of a shootout near the doors) and a small silver box. Within the box sat but a single keypad, requiring a six-digit code, and two scanners, one for the eyes and one for the fingers. The only man alive capable of properly activating this device stood before it, a sadistic grin upon his face.

He took a knee before the silver case, opening the lid slowly. It took only a few moments to activate it; a quick tap of his fingers -- once for every finger but the pinkey, of which he tapped twice -- a press of the thumb, and a scan of a single, emerald-green eye. A cool, metallic female voice echoed to life, not only within the room, but within the entire compound.

"One minute to detonation."

Without a moment's hesitation, Rain bolted, hurtling the railing on the stairwell and falling the full fifteen feet to the sewer's basement, next to his idling bike. He let out one soft groan, barely audiable, before hurling himself astride the vehicle, jamming the throttle. His ears were assailed by the sound of squeeling tires as the bike lurched forward, rocketing down the tunnels, away from what would soon be nothing but a smoking crater.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby SinfulSoul on Tue Jul 11, 2006 1:04 pm

When the metallic female voice echoed throughout the warehouse "One minute to detonation" there was a brief second of absolute silence among the remaining men. In their minds, they collectively were thinking "FUCK!" MacArthur knew he had to work fast. He yanked a smoke grenade from his belt, pulled the pin and let it fly. There wasn't enough time to let the smoke grenade make a large cloud, but he had hoped the shock and smoke from the Humvee's would be enough of a distraction. MacArthur ordered an immediate evacuation towards the woods to the left of the Humvees, closer to the vans. Team A and Team B made a mad dash towards the woods. The four rifleman would fire in spurts towards the vans since their rifles didn't leave a flash to trace the shot from. The fifty or so yard dash would have seemed like hours to the men considering their limited time, but as soon as they made it to the woods, they dove to the ground for cover behind the closest trees to them.

MacArthur knew there was someone else around. A detonation on a warehouse that big couldn't have been remote. Medici was going to be pissed. Each soldier raised their arms over there heads as they prepared for the explosion to come.

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The Starlit Documents...

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zee All Knowing Peacock on Sun Jul 08, 2007 1:01 am

The Starlit Documents


He stood on the hill, a blackened outline against the harsh and fiery silhouette that was the darkening sky. His body was covered in blood, his face a crimson palette. The thick liquid slowly dripped off of his hawk-like features, and down into his bright blue eyes. He looked out over the mass of carnage, with crowds of writhing twitching bodies remained, all of them fighting until the last breath. A cold wind blew through the valley, chilling him to his bones. The dying sun was half beneath the mountains far to the west, giving the entire valley a burning, fiery red light.
His foot lifted up slowly, and he tried to take a step forward, but he stumbled and fell straight on his face. He tried to push himself up, but nausea overtook him and he fell back onto his stomach. He rolled onto his side and retched, the bile spilling out onto the grass to mix with his own blood. His eyes burned as the blood spilled into them, but he felt his hands were too heavy to wipe the salty liquid out.
His head fell sideways and he saw him there; the famed leader, lying dead on the grass beside him. They had called him invincible, but there he was, blood pooling out of numerous wounds in his body. He tried to hold onto consciousness, but knew it was futile; he was dying.
A butterfly flew by above him and he smiled as a sudden peace passed over him. He looked back to the mighty Zaine Nerk lying dead beside him, and compassion shone from his luminous blue eyes. Then he passed out, dying right beside his best friend.

“Is he ready?”

The question was simple enough, directed from one man to another. But even the simplest of questions can carry behind it the most complex of issues.

The second man shook his head. “It will be time still,” he told the first man.

“I am losing patience John,” said the first man. The man called John shook his head.

“You can’t rush these things,” said John. He turned and moved over to a computer.

“When?” asked the first man.

John thought for a moment. “The soonest would be a month… maybe…”

“We need him sooner, it’s almost time,” the first man said.

“Damnit Frank! I would have to accelerate his growth. His mental development is unstable at this stage!” Stormed John, “The side affects could be… devastating…” he sighed, than looked up at the man named Frank. “You know what he could be capable of; if we hurry, the world will feel the consequences.

Frank thought for a moment, staring at the tube. “Still, he will be vital.” He said.

“And what if we botch it!? You know what could happen, and it almost definitely will!”

“Yes, but you won’t need to worry because if you botch it, we’ll see to your execution. But then again, we also will see to your execution if he’s not ready when we need him.” John blanched. Frank turned and slowly he walked away, his footsteps slowly echoing on the metallic grate beneath their feet. John didn’t move for the longest time, just sat staring out at the door Frank had left through.
Slowly he turned back to his computer. One finger slowly fell down and hit a small red button. The screen of his computer lit up…

He slowly awoke, surprised that he could. The sky overhead was now dark, the moon hanging low in the sky, hidden behind clouds. He tried to sit up but he couldn’t. He was still lying beside Zaine, but now his back was warm from the congealed blood he was lying in. He tried to sit up but his whole body ached, a burning sensation roaring through his body. The sky was starlit, casting ethereal shadows out over the battlefield.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but after a length of time he began to hear something. The sounds were strangely familiar, but when he tried to pinpoint what it was he found his mind draw a blank. The sounds grew closer, and after a while it clicked. They were voices. He realized the blood loss he had sustained must’ve done some serious damage, as he knew the language they were speaking, but he didn’t understand them at all.

He felt more vomit rise up and his stomach clenched, and the vile substance poured out of his mouth. He heard the voices getting louder and footsteps running towards him. He saw a face silhouetted before him. The person spoke in a hurried voice, though he still couldn’t understand what they were saying. He coughed, his stomach hurting at the feeling.

He couldn’t make out the person’s face; there was not enough light. He felt rough hands grab him and lift him up. He passed out as he was being carried off.


London sat bolt upright. His head was pounding and he was drenched in sweat. The dreams were getting more and more real. He swung his legs sideways, and his hand reached out to pull up the blinds. Golden light streamed through the window, sending shadows sprawling across the hardwood floor. London slowly got up and moved to the dresser.

He slipped into his plaid button shirt, overtop a plain white t-shirt. He still wore his jeans from the day before. A short-rimmed plaid cap covered his short-cropped brown and gold hair, and he adjusted it to a snug fit. The last thing he took from his dresser was a gun holster, with a Colt .45 Peacemaker revolver strapped in it. He wrapped it onto his waist so the gun was horizontal, in the small of his back.

Just as he finished getting ready there came a knock at his door. He moved slowly towards it, his feet dragging against the floor. His hand reached out and gripped the iron handle, and he slowly turned it. When he swung it open there stood a man and a woman.

The man was large, with soft blue eyes, and a gentle dusting of freckles. He wore a brown long-sleeved shirt, with dress pants underneath. He had a massive claymore strapped to his back, and a red scarf was wrapped around his neck. London knew the sad story behind that scarf, and would not broach it.

The girl was smaller, much smaller in fact, and looked lithe and graceful. She wore a white t-shirt underneath a red plaid blouse, on top of blue denim jeans. She had long-brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She had a boomerang strapped to her belt at her waist. Her face was heavily freckled, and her eyes shone like green luminescent orbs against a golden pale background.

The girl leapt forward and wrapped her arms around London’s neck, hugging him tight. London was short, only slightly taller than her, but he was well built. The girl pulled away and the man clapped him on the shoulder, his heavy hand pulling London down.

“Mira,” nodded London, looking to the girl. His gaze shifted to the big man, “Marshall. What news?”

“We’ve got a tip,” said Marshall, “High-level executive. He’s vulnerable. We gotta take him out.”

London nodded. “Let’s go. Where do we have to hit them?”

“Downtown,” replied Marshall.

London nodded then pushed past through them into the hall outside. As he turned down the hall he heard them fall into step behind him. At the end of the hall the light burst through a massive hole in the wall, but one of the signs of the bleak future. They moved to the hole and London looked out only for a second, before turning and heading towards the elevator. They were about fifteen stories up, but the elevator took less than a second. There was a small bell sound, and the doors opened. They stepped outside into the street and Marshall pulled the red scarf up over his nose and mouth.

London pulled his .44 magnum from its holster and let it dangle at his side. The trio moved down the deserted streets, their eyes darting all over the place, probing shadows and the darkness for potential threats.

“Where is he supposed to be?” asked London, not looking back.

“She, actually,” said Marshall, “and she’ll be near the old station.”

London paused. “Down by 34th Street?” He didn’t hear an answer, but he knew it was the same one. He sighed and continued walking.

They arrived a short while later, coming to the entrance of the large subway station. London looked around, his eyes searching for any signs. He could see nothing, and he saw Mira and Marshall set up around him, Marshall bearing his huge claymore, and Mira with blades strapped to her arms. Suddenly, London saw movement at the far side of the cracked street. A woman, carrying a briefcase, accompanied by maybe five armed guards. London’s gun shot upwards, his arm extending fully, just as the guards noticed them. The pistol bucked in his hand as the shots rang out, crossing the street to slam into the guards.

One guard fell, a bullet through the eye, piercing deep into his brain. Another got hit in the shoulder, but he still managed to level his automatic gun. Rapid fire burst out, ripping towards them. London dove to one side, the bullets ripping past him. He rolled and came to his feet, leaping a small concrete wall. Small pieces of cement chipped themselves off the wall as the bullets hit it. He looked over, and three more bullets ripped themselves from the barrel of his gun. Three more guards down.

But where’s that god-damned girl?

She was gone, with no trace. London looked around confusedly, and that’s when he saw Mira and Marshall on the ground. He ran over to them, but they were both dead.

But not by machine guns fire.

Two high-caliber rounds, probably fired by a rifle from long distance. He looked around, and that’s when a question hit him. Why would a high-level executive be in the broken part of the city. Now his only two friends were dead, but his face showed no remorse.

It was the life of a bounty hunter, anyway. He looked down at Marshall, and pulled the red scarf off of his face. He pulled it to his face, and wrapped it around, tying it behind his neck.

London walked forward, moving to the far side of the street. He looked around and saw one live guard, it was the one he had hit in the shoulder, but it seemed it had gone lower than he’d first thought. Probably hit an artery, he thought.

“While you’re still alive, how about you help me make this quick?” said London, looking down at the guard. The man had soiled himself, and the stench was almost overpowering when mixed with the strong blood scent. “I want to know what the fuck is going on here, and you’re going to tell me. Otherwise…” his hand reached down, finger digging deep into the wound. The man screamed in pain, and London smiled. “Now that we understand each other, why the hell was this set up?”

“I don’t know,” the man said, and London’s hand reached down, digging in deep. Another scream escaped the man’s lips. “Alright! All I know, is that this was not standard procedure. High level clearance. Only a few people could get this going. Something’s changed down at T-Corp. Something big.”

London looked at him as his eyes narrowed. “Who? Who could set this up?”

“Top level execs only. The president of the company, and maybe a few of his closest assistants. I don’t know why! I swear!” London nodded. His gun leveled and the guard’s head shot back into the pavement as a bullet tore into his face. London stood, then looked around. The sniper could’ve easily picked him off too, but he hadn’t. It must’ve been connected to his dreams…

((OOC: Alright, this is a basic bounty hunter thing, where we would be in the employ of the corporations of the city. Basically, we start out basic, but the story I have in mind for London, the main character, will come into play later. I will play two characters throughout this roleplay, but the second will come into play later. Everyone can just join right in. Have fun!

P.S. I hope this is okay with Sin and everybody who has been working on Neo Nagasaki))
"Some things are important. Others are not. Yet all would claim a mortal's attention. It falls to each of us to remain ever mindful, and thus purchase wisdom in the threading of possibilities. It is our common failing that we are guided by our indifference to eventualities. The moment pleases, the future can await consideration." - Steven Erikson's Midnight Tides

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Zee All Knowing Peacock
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