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Erich Wyke

In an Alternate Reality, World War 2 was never won; it just ended in mutual destruction. In the remnants of post-nuclear civilization, Erich Wyke cannot forgive those who wronged him.

0 · 289 views · located in Deployment Bay

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Nevan

Description

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True Name: Erich Wyke.
Test Number: #RM-072
Race: Human.
Age: This section has been scribbled over.

Health Condition: "The Subject is 'suffering' from Chronic Radiation-Mutation Syndrome from low exposure to radiation during his childhood. He is one of many interesting test subjects in that, rather than simply suffering from the degradation of health over a long period of time, the subject has developed some... Rather unusual abilities. His resistance to radiation has apparently increased, as tests show that contact with high amounts of Ionizing Radiation cause minimum short-term health problems." - Doctor Einbeck's journal, dated 15th February, 1967.

Abilities: "80% of subjects in the #RM research and development project are under constant surveillance and the extent of their 'abilities' is becoming really rather astounding.. Each a little different, but all equally amazing. #RM-072 is not only more resistant to pain and damage than Humans, but he seems able to 'poison' those he comes into physical contact with, apparently inflicting them with radiation sickness. Tests show that prolonged exposure is in fact deadly. We have outlawed the possibility of military training, as such individuals would be too dangerous." - Doctor Einbeck's journal, dated 1st March, 1967.

Weapons: "The stockmaster is reporting that over the cause of several weeks, a Walther P38 pistol, almost 20 rounds of ammunition and a bayonet blade have gone missing. Security is going to be tightened and all rooms searched. This greatly worries me, as an escape attempt isn't out of the question; there is only so much security we can implement in the post-nuclear world. What worries me even further, however, is subject #RM-072's talent for adaption - several tests have shown that he has the intelligence to improvise successfully where even the most hardened soldier cannot. I am certain he has something to do with the disappearance of the missing equipment..." - Doctor Einbeck's journal, dated 22nd August, 1967.

The remaining pages were torn out.

To be updated.

So begins...

Erich Wyke's Story

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#, as written by Nevan
Erich Wyke entered; a man whose hooded attire seemed augmented with mechanics. He scratched underneath his nose, before making his way over to the counter to sit down. He didn't order anything, he merely sat there with one hand across the other.

He seemed rather lightly armed, with only a pistol and a knife being obvious on his person.

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#, as written by Nevan
Erich Wyke entered through the main door and quietly closed it behind him. He was a rather tall figure, wearing hooded attire vaguely resembling something from the renaissance - however, the mechanical implants seemed to suggest it wasn't as simple as mere clothing. It resembled armour that covered his torso and arms; with the occasional dial, or a small, glowing sphere.

Where as normally, the man would have nothing more than a German issued WW2 pistol and a bayonet blade, today Erich carried a Russian Dragunov, with a PSO-1 scope. This rifle was strapped to his back with a leather sling and most would realize on first sight that it was loaded.

The man let out a yawn, but didn't bother to lower his hood and show his face. "Whiskey," he ordered as he reached the counter.

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#, as written by Nevan
"Thank you," he replied, lifting the glass into his hood to sip. "So, this is Wing City, huh? Not as War Torn as I imagined it would be... Certainly not enough to stop people from continuing daily life, eh?"

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#, as written by Nevan
"I'm looking for a Doctor Einbeck," he answered, though obviously cautious. "You don't know of him, do you?"

A hand went into the shadow of his hood and rubbed at his chin. Perhaps it wasn't wise to say that right off the bat; for all he know, the man could be working for him and pressing a secret alarm button under the counter at that very moment.

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#, as written by Nevan
"I guess I should hand in my weapons too," he mumbled, before beginning to place them one by one on the counter: including a Dragunov sniper rifle, a Walther P38 german issued handgun from World War 2, two frag grenades, one RK-3 anti-tank grenade, a Spec-Ops combat knife and finally, a bayonet that looked like it had been taken straight from an 18th century rifle.

"Can't you just leave them here in front of me?" He asked.

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#, as written by Nevan
"I'm not too concerned about the possibility of a fight, if I'm perfectly honest."

He downed the last of his whiskey, then slid the glass away from him. In the same movement, he let it fall on the bayonet and slide it a little more closer to him - for comfort's sake, mostly.

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#, as written by Nevan
"You shouldn't tell your weaknesses to strangers, I could easily use those things against you if I wanted," he answered, while turning to look around. Not much seemed to be going on.

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#, as written by Nevan
"Good luck fighting like you are, then," he said; almost sarcastically. He took his weapons back, not wanting to leave them there as he changed seats, then made his way over to a booth.

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to Eastern Wing City Outskirts

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#, as written by Nevan
Erich Wyke peered down the scope of his Dragunov rifle, surveying the factory grounds behind the tall brick wall and metal gate that sat on the other side of the street to the building he was in. The factory was a large, early industrial beast and he could imagine almost perfectly how it served not only as a work house for cotton production, but also as a prison to keep the 'employees' from escaping.

A grin crept upon his face; hidden by the shadow of his hood. In the modern day, that factory was still a shit-heap... But this time, for different purposes. Some sort of military had moved in, with armed soldiers guarding the security-gate booth and scouring the perimeter.

They had called themselves 'The Revolution Front'; something about anti-occupation, a 'free' Terra and other such bullshit. They certainly hadn't been so noble when they had shelled the office building he was in.

But luckily, that worked in his favour. Spotting a hidden figure among large piles of rubble, in the dark no less, was almost impossible even for the highly trained sniper on the factory roof, who watched as the gates opened for a convoy of armoured vehicles.

Erich Wyke held his breath, then shifted his sights over the head of the enemy sniper - his most immediate threat.

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#, as written by Nevan
With no silenced weapons, Erich didn't fire at the sniper he saw. He didn't want to alert the entire factory before he even got over the wall. So instead, he decided to stick to the dark of night and slip in using the old fashioned art of stealth.

At one time, he thought stealth had been overrated, but experience had certainly told him otherwise. He slid down the mountain of rubble, until he reached the road. After a tactical jeep passed him, he sped across the road; low and quiet until he could hug the wall a good several meters to the left of the main security gate.

As the last of the trucks of the convoy entered and the gate shut behind them, Erich jumped, scrambled up the wall and then climbed over; the barbed wire not deterring him in the lightest as he dropped back down on the other side.

Within a second of landing, he had taken cover behind several large crates.

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#, as written by Nevan
A guard suddenly stepped through that open door Emily had seen, and in front of a set of crates to light a cigarette. Before he got a chance, however, the figure of Erich Wyke appeared behind him, removed a glove from his right hand, then clasped it over the guard's mouth.

The guard bucked and struggled, unable to breath as though he was being asphyxiated... However, his nostrils were visible and his windpipe not compressed in any way... But somehow, the touch was killing him.

A second later, the body slumped down into the shadows and the hooded Erich ran for the door, took a second to look inside, then disappeared into the corridor within.

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#, as written by Nevan
Erich grabbed the collar of the surprised and terrified guard with his gloved left hand, then slammed him down into a table. The man struggled, lashing out with his feet to try and kick back his assailant, but this did nothing other than earn him a right hook.

Erich pulled his fist back, then held it threateningly above him. "Where. Is. Einbeck?" The hooded man growled.

"I-I don't know!"

Thump! Erich's fist broke the man's nose, then pressed into it - skin against skin, until the guard's heart stopped beating. He pulled away, then turned to check the second door leaving the office he was in.

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#, as written by Nevan
He slowly turned, coming face-to-face with the SMG-wielding woman. He went quiet, aside from steady breathing...

"You don't look like one of them."

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#, as written by Nevan
"Who are you? What do you want?"

He felt the weight of the Dragunov rifle, held by a sling against his back... And the hanging bayonet blade against the hip behind his coat. One was too slow and heavy, the other only good for short range... He would have to rely on his Walther pistol, should they come to blows.

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#, as written by Nevan
"I had a feeling you were going to say that. I won't be answering... Obviously."

He took a step back, a daring move that made him half expect to get shot.

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#, as written by Nevan
"You should come back in the morning," he suggested dangerously, while taking another step back towards that other door. "I'm busy here."

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#, as written by Nevan
"Why?" He asked, then reiterated: "why should I trust you? I suppose I don't see a problem with letting you distract some of them, but I certainly don't see why we should suddenly become allies."

He took hold of his hood and pulled it further over his head.

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#, as written by Nevan
"When I was six years old I survived a nuclear explosion, you'd need a little more than that to take me out, I think."

What he didn't mention was the incredible role luck played into said survival. Honestly, he must have been favoured by the angels to have not only survived the explosion, but the radiation as well...

"Who are you?"

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#, as written by Nevan
"... Fine, do what you need to do and I'll do what I need to do, how about that?"

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#, as written by Nevan
"Fine," he answered, as he packed them into his coat and then pulled out his pistol and bayonet blade. "I don't think he's here, I was just looking for information about him... My luck's not hat good, unfortunately. Either way, I'll see you on the other side. Or outside... In an hour."

He turned, then ran through the door - disappearing to the sound of gunshots as he began a rampage through the soldiers who had gathered around their location.

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