Kerry Delroy's Story

OOC NOTES:

• Please make sure you have read the entire introduction and also the information written under the ‘Culprit City’ place page, found under the ‘Places’ tab. This will give you information on the armoury, the SafeSite building and how rule breaking will be dealt with. Rule breaking includes the removal of Criminal/Hero bands.
• I suggest that any combat between played characters be written collaboratively. (TitanPad)
• Do not feel the need to match the word count of this post. I’d much prefer shorter posts around 300-500 words, though. This is not a rule.
• Players are placed randomly across the city. You may choose where. I hope everyone spreads themselves out decently. Weapons have to be gained inside the city; they did not enter with any. All are currently wearing the same black outfit from head to toe, consisting of: boots, trousers, a T-shirt and a waterproof jacket with pockets.
• Anything that is not addressed in the introduction or in the Culprit City place page that you wish to know, post in the OOC.

The atmosphere inside Station 7 was electric. Fittingly, a lightning storm was raging outside but it did little to dampen and destroy the mood. The Station was well protected, and the people inside were safe. The same could not be said for those which the hundreds of screens inside the main room of the ‘Culprit City’ floor in Station 7 depicted. The mostly haunted and gaunt faces of the criminals peered out from many, their expressions ranging from desperate to determined to downright disgusted, getting drenched in the downpour. Other screens showed Heroes, marked by the green bands around their arms rather than the red, criminal ones. It rained down on them, too, though it did not make them look desolate as it did the more helpless criminals, nor as evil as the more frightening ones. The water which ran down their figures made their faces gleam. It highlighted their straight, strong shoulders and confident stances. It painted them formidably. The panoramic screen with took pride of place in the Station showed Culprit City’s clumsy skyline. Dark clouds filled the sky above, but the rain was lightening up.

Soon, all of the ‘players’ were in their randomly allocated starting positions and left to soak until the klaxon roared. The sound of tapping keys and excited chatter on the floor was dying down as the moment to Culprit City’s first ever broadcast drew closer. Station 7’s employees settled into a more professional manner, speaking when needed in sure tones. And then – he arrived. Barely on time. The man wore a leather trench coat, still flecked with raindrops. A trilby hat cast his spectacled eyes into shadow. All very mysterious. But as to who this man was: there was no mystery. The Announcer was known worldwide for his deep, dramatic and demanding voice. He was the God of all commentators. And Station 7 was honoured. The Announcer took his place in the prepared booth, removed his hat and straightened his spectacles on his particularly bulbous nose. He wet his lips with the glass of water which was at the ready, and looked to his set up of prompts and CCTV feedback. The Announcer nodded.

The countdown began. At zero, the title sequence rolled out to millions then continued on to a prepared montage of introductory information and a selection of interviews from both criminals and heroes. It was produced dramatically; all quick cuts, dark lighting and tense music. Finally, the broadcast cut to Culprit City’s advanced camera system. They scanned and swooped, bringing up the faces of various players and theatrical shots of the city. The perfect visuals for The Announcer, whose voice now boomed out across Culprit City from speakers atop the street lights, addressing the audience but heard also by the players:

“Ladies and gentleman, we invite you - the victims of years of criminal activity – to observe as justice is served. We promise you an entertaining watch. We seek your vengeance.” A lengthy pause began, filled by silence and the face currently on screen; a thug-like character, a criminal, lips pressed into a straight line and eyes staring with menace.

“Each of our players has had a chip implanted into their brain which runs off the electrical impulses. We can use this to track our players, and also determine which have died.

Our maintenance force of highly-trained and protected members of the Station 7 team will be accessing the Culprit City set to deal with bodies and any rule breaking… We are not lenient in our punishments. Quite the opposite.” an ominous and spontaneous chuckle escaped from The Announcer, but it only added to the performance.

“Our players have all been informed of the rules, but are going to be a little lost in this city, don’t you think? Well, that’s why we’ve hidden maps across the city. 100 in total. Getting hold of one of these would give a huge advantage.

Now, join me as we launch this innovative way of presenting righteousness to those who deserve it . Inspired by the graphic novel by Jia Jiu… This is Culprit City.”

The screen went black.
Five seconds passed.
A countdown clock appeared on the screen.
3… 2… 1…

The klaxon sounded.



TASKS:
♦ Attempt to find a map.
♦ Get hold of a weapon of sorts.
♦ Find a base, somewhere for your character/s to reside. Perhaps alone, perhaps with allies. Find your territory.
♦ Interact with at least one other played character.

The apartments lining Park Street were multi-storied buildings for those on a low-medium pay-check. Most of them looked somewhat run-down, but they seemed reasonably well designed. It was clear they'd taken inspiration from real life apartment blocks when they created the street, which hopefully meant that they would all have a fully functional inside complete with furniture and basic necessities such as running water and food.

They weren't safe from the weather, not were they safe from criminals or heroes, but there were lots of them and Kerry only needed a single room to use as a home base; to start with. The klaxon had already sounded several minutes ago, but rather than immediately running blindly off into the city, Kerry decided to carefully examine his surroundings and move into a position where he could not only stay relatively hidden, but get a good view of his surroundings. The apartments were perfect for what he wanted; they were not only filled with hiding spaces and potential spots for home-crafted booby traps, but they were close enough for him to get a head start over any unsuspecting hero. No doubt they were all rushing towards their centre armoury right at that moment, hoping to stock up on as many guns and as much ammo as possible.

Let them, Kerry thought as he pushed through into one of the apartment blocks through a back door in an alley. Several other red-bands were lurking in the area, but Kerry was tall, well muscled and had a stern face that just dared anyone to approach him have their neck broken. As such, they mostly ignored him, though he was sure no-one actually watched him enter the apartment building through the back door.

Inside was just as he expected; most of the hallways were carpeted, with walls papered and painted and a staircase varnished with dark brown wood. There was even an elevator, though Kerry didn't trust to use it. He made his way up the stairs quietly, making sure to keep his footsteps low and his breath as shallow as his body could bare. At this point in the game, no-one would be expecting stealth, they would be loudly rummaging for supplies and violently killing those first few who got in their way. Even less than twenty minus in he could hear the cries of fighting and death in the distance, but he wouldn't take part in that.

No. The weak would fall first. The longer it went on, the stronger his enemies would become, though they were likely to be bloodied, more fatigued and possibly injured - Kerry would have none of these disadvantages.

He checked through a few rooms, roughly 30% of which were empty shells that the producers likely ran out of time to fill with decor. He soon scoped out a possible 'home base' on the top floor, the window one across from a fire-escape exit so if need be, he could climb out and fling himself across. It would be a dangerous escape, but more dangerous it was to have a fire-escape staircase leading directly into his room. It had a bed, bathroom and kitchen. It was more than he ever had in the field before he was a 'red band', but he decided not to let such thoughts anger him.

He made for the roof, which was flat, empty and offered a good view of the surrounding street. On his belly and lying by the edge to better hide himself from anyone who might look up, he began to make mental notes of any objects or buildings of interest. He was yet to find a map, so this was the next best thing. It was only when he looked back up that he noticed a man watching him from the roof on the other side of the street.

The rain continuously forced itself down towards the ground, with so much striking the kitchen window of the apartment that Kerry couldn't see out of it. That was good, of course, because the amount of noise generated was enough to mask his presence a little as he went through the kitchen drawers and found a blade he could use to defend himself. It was several inches long, probably used for slicing carrots and other vegetables. It would probably break easily if force was applied to it, as evidenced by the way the blade began to bend when he applied a little pressure, but in his hands it would still be a deadly, silent weapon.

Someone was hunting him, he knew. It wasn't just the journalists and television-stalkers watching him through the hidden cameras no doubt filling every apartment, but the man he had seen on the roof who soon revealed himself a hero. Kerry had gone back inside then, out of sight and out of mind, but he knew that the man would come for him. He had to be ready to protect himself, which meant not being in the apartment when he arrived.

He'd return later, of course, but Kerry had found a small backpack and had already filled it with any useful provisions he had found, including a roll of bandages and some painkillers. Similarly, he had a set of pliers, a can opener, a bottle of water and a roll of thick, black duct-tape. As starting loot went, it was a brilliant haul for his first stop. Still, the backpack he slung over his shoulders and strapped tightly to his back still had room for food and water and he planned to go out and find those items. Not only could he avoid and confuse his enemy then, but he could return and strike from behind; invade the other building before returning to his own.

It was a decent plan, he thought. And the only one he had.

A few minutes later, he was turning sharply at the top of the stairs and making his way down on quick, silent feet, his eyes and ears as open and alert as was possible for a human drowned in his own fear, adrenaline and resulting split-second times of reaction. It's for those reasons that he saw the baseball bat coming around the corner at him before his eyes did; and Kerry slid down, the wooden weapon passing over his head as he gripped the bannister that held the railing to the wall and lunged around with his feet, kicking the man back down the stairs.

The second and third men dodged aside, one holding a crowbar and the other a knife. He knew not whether they were heroes or criminals, not did he care. They initiated the first blow, so now he could think of them only as enemies. Kerry's feet gripped one of the steps and he pushed his upper body forwards, leaving the ground with a leap into the air as he jumped down upon the man with the knife several stairs below him. The man tried to hold his knife up to pierce Kerry like a spear, but it passed by Kerry's side and was locked into place by his arm, just as the knee made contact with the chest and the force of the impact carried them both down to the next landing, bypassing the man with the crowbar in the meanwhile.

When they hit the ground, Kerry was sure his knee snapped the man's ribs, but he wasn't willing to spend more time making sure than the second it took him to get back up and continue his run. The first man with the bat tried to grab his ankle as he passed, but Kerry leapt over and began to sprint down around the corner. As he fled, he could hear a pursuer behind him, scraping his metal crowbar against the wall as he rushed at Kerry like a wolf approaching a vulnerable prey just as another man came up the stairs from below.

Kerry met this lunge by stopping, honing his timing, then spinning around to the side with his arms out. The lunging man flew past him, but not before Kerry grabbed hold of his clothing with his hands and began to thrust him into the large window under the first-floor sign. As the glass broke, Kerry pushed him through and jumped, barely avoiding the fourth man's outstretched hands.

The fall wouldn't kill him. It wasn't far enough to really injure a man with his athletic training, either. The man he landed on, however, probably wasn't as lucky, what with the single-glazing window breaking in his face and piercing his body all over. It was probably the 200+lb man landing on his back and hammering him into the concrete road that did the most damage, though.

The man was dead, then. Or soon to be. Kerry had no sympathy for him, so he stood and held the cut on his arm he had sustained during the ridiculous, likely insane manoeuvre; he looked down south towards Westway Avenue and 1st street, then set off running before anyone else could catch up to him.