World Of Our Own

xImxLostxWithoutxYou · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **xImxLostxWithoutxYou** on Thu Oct 30, 2008 8:24 pm

Ok then, so here is the OOC for this roleplay, please see there if interested in joining.

The History...

On Earth, for many years, things were stable, in a natural equilibruim. Cycles run naturally. Natural events came and went. Then man came along and destroyed all that. Built their machines to drill oil, cut down trees, fight diseases, pollute the planet. There was only so much the planet could take. And in the year 2000, that limit was passed, and the Earth broke.
A deadly disease spread across the human race 20 years ago, infecting everyone in sight. No one was protected and no one could find a cure in time. Adults ranging from 27 onwards were killed, while the children survived. Everyone has the virus though. You, me, the guy next to you. Everyone. And so when you reach the age near to thirty, you become sick and eventually die. It's now the year 2020 and everywhere is a mess. The last of the adults over 27 died 5 years ago, causing the survivors to split into gangs all over the city. And it's not peaceful. Every gang is at war with each other, determined to be the gang that owns the whole city eventually. The oldest of the survivors are all still working on a cure for this, before time runs out for them, but at the same time, they are running thier gang and trying to fight in the vicious ongoing battle between each area. And can anyone bring the city to peace? When a girl is kidnapped by one gang, which sets off another series of problems, will she be able to stop the battles?
This deadly killer virus mutated from a sinple flu-like bug, and then soon adapted to be airbourne, spreading globally. After a few years, it adapted to cause serious illness and death, so that by the year 2015, most of the adult population older than 27 were dead. As soon as you get to around 27, the symptoms start to show. Scientists, before they were killed from the virus, linked it to some sort of clock mechanism in the body, so its symptoms set off with your age. And so therefore, most people don't live til 30. Also, no cure has been found.
In one city though, where there is no one older than 27, war has broken out. The city has been broken into 4 territories, though these territories were formed long before the virus, there was never a war. Now there is. The four territories are : -

The Westside Wolves

The Southern Slayers

The Northern Eagles

The Eastern Cheetahs

The Eastern Cheetahs were the last gang to arise amidst everything as there was a fight between who should be the leader in the Northern part of the city.This gang has been known for its softness towards others, never been one for violence until now, and is also out to get the Key for the same reasons as The Northern Eagles. It's just a case of who gets thier first. Now, it's them that are also trying to find a cure for this virus, and hoping that the key can help them out.

And each side has been told of The Legend....

The Legend...

The war began, with a key opening a door, and so the end of the war will be to a key locking it.
The Key may not be the type of key, or have the looks of a key, that opens the doors known to man.
The Key is made from Beauty, Love, Compassion and Thought.
And Shows no evil.
The Key began the war, and the Key ends the war.
The challenge though, is finding the Key and finding the door.
Like in the real world, there are many keys, to many doors...

Wizard_and_Glass · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Wizard_and_Glass** on Fri Oct 31, 2008 10:33 am

As he stood at the head of the abandoned church in his territory, his hands gripped the edges of the podium tightly to fight away the wracking coughs threatening to burst from him. His eyes rove the crowd before him, not a congregation hearing a sermon on a nice Sunday afternoon, but his gang, though he did not treat them as pawns. He was one of them, not just a leader, but a comrade. He always made sure to stress that point, for he would not ask anyone in the gang to do anything he was not willing to do himself. He was at the end of a particularly rousing speech, though it was a rare sight to see him speak as such, for he was not a gifted orator.

"...so you see, my friends, my comrades. We do not wage this war for power. We are fighting, yes, but not for power, for domination. We fight for peace...to quell the constant fighting between factions and unify us all under one banner!"

He thought he had done rather well, though he knew he was not a very good speech-maker. He had tried his best for that one, a large smile on his lips as he surveys the crowd before him. Before any cheer could go up if there would have been one, however, something went wrong.

A gunshot.

Shattering glass.

Screams of surprise as pain like a bolt of lightning rips through one side of his chest and out the other, both lungs pierced and his heart disintegrating before the bullet lodges itself into the woodwork. His lips still held their smile, the light gone from his eyes, dead before he hit the floor.

"NYAH!"

Ezra Blythe sat up with a scream in his bed, his hand moving to his chest, eyes wide in the darkness as he clutches his chest, where the pains from his dream still throbbed. He was whole...his lungs were still working, though not any better than when he had went to sleep, already feeling as if he wanted to cough, yet he was alive. His heart, too, still worked, for he could feel it galloping in his chest, thrumming in his panic against his ribs. His other hand moves up to his head, his sheets clinging to his sweat-soaked frame. He inhales a few shaky breaths, his eyes closing once more as he clutches his chest, scratching at it slowly, speaking to himself.

"Just a nightmare...it was just a nightmare. Just like every other time you've went to sleep, Ezra. Calm down. You can't get worked up like this. You just can't do it. You'll just die faster that way because you can't medicate yourself. You never bothered to learn what drugs you took so now you can't take them yourself."

He nods slowly, his hair sticking to his face, plastered to his head as if he had taken a shower. He swings his legs slowly off the bed, keeping the blankets over his lap for now, for he wore nothing to bed most times, keeping anyone from seeing him, though no one was around at the moment, he thought. He reached out towards his bedside table, his white robe folded there, his slick fingers grasping the cloth and dragging it over old bottles, some of them clinking as they roll from the edge, falling to the floor. He took a few more steadying breaths, as deep as he could, a few drops of moisture rolling from the corners of his eyes down his cheeks.

He pulls the robes slowly over his shoulders, standing and letting the blankets fall away as he closes it over himself, tying it at the front before sliding his hands into the pockets. His bare feet shuffle over the floor, dragging at times, at others lifting just enough for his feet not to scrape the floor, heading towards the windows of his room. When he reaches it, his right hand slides from his pocket, being placed upon the window as his forehead also meets with the glass, his skin's heat causing it to fog around the places where he touches it. His eyes track down to the church across the street from the apartments he resided in, living in the highest apartment. His fingers curl for a moment, moving his gaze up over the rest of the territory his gang occupied to the as of yet unraided military base.

"Not for long, though...not for long."

His breath fogs the glass before he turns away, chest convulsing for a moment as a small cough rocks him, grateful that it was only a small one and not one of the kinds that bent him over something until it ended and left him bleeding. His head rises, icy blue orbs raking over the whiteboard in a corner of his bedroom, his right hand extending to grab a small marker, starting to draw more lines, write more plans upon it. He had ideas on how to quell the fighting, at least at the borders of his territory, though he had yet to vocalize them to his gang...he wanted to solidify the ideas first. It was late, he knew, but...he couldn't go back to sleep, not now. He turned for a moment, a small refrigerator on the table being opened. He pulls out an energy drink, popping the top and drinking down half of it before dropping the can back onto the table.

"Just have to...to make the plans good. Have to think 'em through, make sure they're airtight, no holes in them. Can't have anything going wrong on my watch. We've done well so far."

Diary-chan · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Diary-chan** on Fri Oct 31, 2008 3:40 pm

The cold, shining steel twirled in intricate designs, its paint blood, its canvas a pale arm. The crimson wetness glistened in the moonlight, which was setting into the teeny hours of the morning. The arm seemed to glow in the moonlight, being accentuated by the stark contrast of the blood. And yet the sleek knife kept twirling, though blood dripped from its edge and the canvas was filled.

Zee sat back to study her work, twisting her arm around to different angles to see where the unearthly glow of the silver moon hit it. In addition to what scars already adorned her bare arms, two wolves leaped high on either sides of the forearms, glistening freshly with blood. The cuts were not deep; in fact, the would most likely be gone within the week. And yet Zee kept up her nightly art sessions, staring thoughtfully with hard green eyes at her work.
" Not too shabby. "

Zee sat on top of an old factory building, smoke chimneys still visible behind her. Of course, the factory had closed down ages ago-- before the Virus had struck. Then everything had changed, and everyone had scrambled to get tested for the Virus before it was too late to evacuate. Zee had no idea whether there was any life at all outside the city; nor did she care.

Suddenly a memory flashed into her mind, making her clench a fist.

" No, I have to take her, my baby, I need my baby!! "
" I'm sorry, ma'am, but she's Infected. She's got to stay here, with the others. "
" But, my ba-- "
And with that, the woman was dragged into a car stuffed full of other people, and the black Sedan drove away. And a little girl, just past eight, stood crying as the vehicle rolled away, too stunned to even cry, or scream. The others growled at her, scowling and giving her disgusted looks. Others were afraid, and shied away from the girl. But the girl didn't understand.
" Why did they take Mom away? " She asked, over and over, but no one would answer her. Finally, a man in a blue suit looked angrily at the girl, shouting and smacking her. The girl cried in pain, and scrambled away from the city gates, never to be seen again. At least, not in that identity.

Short, spiky white-blonde hair blew in the slight breeze, hardened green eyes firmed in a scowl. Zee resolutely stood, turning back to the door that led down the floors of the factory, moon still shining at her back. She didn't feel like cutting anymore, even though fresh blood dripped down her arm. Memories could be both good and bad.

Maestro · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Maestro** on Fri Oct 31, 2008 5:08 pm

Lying in the dirt, a good-for-nothing like he always was. Brecken, better yet known as "Bracen" was hanging around in the empty alleys. For now he was just pacing, keeping the cogs in his mind very well-turned and rounded so he could try and focus later. If he just sat and did nothing, he would be entirely exhausted later and not want to do anything, but he wouldn't let that happen.

Most of the Eastern Cheetah's were lingering around somewhere, sadly, Brecken, had not seem them all day. It wasn't a big deal to him, he supposed it did not matter, his age wasn't really one to aid them.

Brecken was nothing, or so he believed. He meant nothing, he was more of a loser in the group. Being a child scared him, he was going to end up getting killed in the midst of these endless battles. His worse fear coming alive. He lost everything, his brother, his mother, even his father if that counts. His father died when he was real young, he was taken from his mother when he was only a few years old. He missed her so much, his small body laying against hers. She was always so warm and nurturing and now he didn't even know where she was. He guessed, like usual, she was probably dead like the rest.

His brother was out there somewhere, his years just accelerating more quickly than his. Stormy was always a bit unusual, but growing up, he always took care of Brecken. Now, Stormy just had a ton of problems that he wanted nothing to do with.

**********

Stormy, hating the word Skyler, sat silently in front of the bar, his gun an inch from his hand ready to be fired. He couldn't stand people messing with him, so his gun never went far without him. When someone messed with him, he shot them, simple as that. Life was already screwed, what was one more death?

Dousing down another scotch, toying with the bronze-colored liquid with his fingers, he stared off into the parlor area. Pulling up his gun, taking out every bullet except one, he put the gun to his head and fired. Blank. Trying again. Blank.

A man entered the parlor, staring at Stormy with a grin, "There you are you scum . . ." The man stated, walking towards Stormy who stood there unflinching. "Can I help you?" He said, trying to be an ass like he always was. The man grinned widely and picked up a pool cue from the table, immediately swinging, the shot was fired into the mans cranium, he was dead.

Stormy smirking, placing the cartridge back in the magnum, blood oozing onto the floor along with tendrils of brains. It was a mess, and Stormy was getting out of here. Finishing off the drink, tossing it on the floor, he headed to the door.

Standing there, lighting a cigarette he walked out, his gun holstered as he headed down the long empty sidewalks, only smiling. To him, it was funny, finding amusement in how stupid people were. Challenges. That's what it all came down to . . .

Nothing mattered to him but shoot-to-kill. Not his deceased mother nor his father, or his young little brother. They all were just chicken-scratch. He didn't need them, he didn't need the Westside Wolves, he needed his gun, that was it. The only reason he lingered with the Wolves was because they were a safety in numbers, nothing more or less.

Leila Aarons · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Leila Aarons** on Fri Oct 31, 2008 5:13 pm

Alicia didn't want to think of anything right now, really. She just sat there against the wall, the room completely empty. This was her home--an abandoned apartment in her gang's territory. It was very small, and had very little furniture. The room she was in now used to be the bedroom, but it was completely empty now. Not even a bed.

On the walls were writings, some black, some red, some various colors. Most were done in spray paint or marker, others may have been blood stains of some sort, but Alicia's scars were usually hidden. Not all of the scars on her body were self-inflicted, though. In fact, the majority of them came from something else...someone else.

Sighing, the sixteen-year-old girl rested her head back against the wall, now closing her blue eyes. Everything was hectic nowadays. The gang, this entire life was just so stressful. She hid it around everyone else, but honestly, all she wanted was some peace and happiness, which she hadn't had in...actually, she had never had it before.

"Who am I kidding?" She asked herself aloud, voice low and quiet. "I'll never get that, never. I know that, so why do I still hope?" In her eyes, there was no longer any use for hope. Hope had never gotten her anything before, and she didn't think it would get her something now. Opening her eyes again, she looked around a bit, and now her thoughts turned to her gang, and what might possibly be going on.

SinnerOfAllSaints · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **SinnerOfAllSaints** on Fri Oct 31, 2008 5:43 pm

Mid-Night

There was a heavy fog out tonight. The kind of fog that you didn't want to drive in, The kind of fog that child you to the bone no matter what the temperature was outside. The fog was heavy enough to obscure the water below him. Johnny was at the time leaning against the guard-rail of the east side bridge. No he wasn't thinking about jumping into the icy blue water that was about a 100 feet below him. Na tonight he was talking to Mike the Angel. “ The Southern Slayers Gang they have the key johnny! Man! I don't know anything else I'm telling you...” Oh ya I forgot to tell you that the “Angel” happen to be hanging off the side of the East Side bridge. How he got there is another story I might tell you later. “ What was that Mike? Your going to tell me that you took my money, And time and this is all you got to tell me” Johnny then took a few steps backwards so to lean against the side of his 2001 Suzuki GSX-R750. This was not going anywhere and really he had better things to do. “ Alright Mike I believe man, So I'm going to have to running into Southern Slayers territory find someone to talk to me over there... And, this is the job I paid you to do... Well, Mike the Angel I hope you can fly. Cause you make a bad rat” Johnny's voice held no signs of love. So at the time Mike's eyes held Johnny's for that slip second before the rope was cut. You might think it would haunt Johnny at night... You might be thinking wrong. Johnny stayed leaning against the guard-rail long enough to hear Mike's yells, And then the sicking splash of his body hitting the water below. “ Well there goes a week of my time wasted' Johnny said to himself. Turning he took the few steps back to his bike. Garbing the helmet off the seat and slipping it over his head. Fingers then moving to lock the inner-locking straps. The cool night air filled with the sound of the bike turning over. Then he roared off into the fog leaving Mike under the bridge... I guess the city didn't love him.

About two in the morning

Johnny was doing his favorite past time. Wasting gas... He rode about their side staying within their territory of the city just making sure their hold was as strong as it was just six hours before when he had done the same thing. Ezra hasn't been out lately and John wanted to give him a full and up-to-date report if asked for. The single light of the Suzuki Cut through the thick fog as he flew into the military base, Slowing down as he cut around the church, The back to wide out all out for the 250 feet into the old hanger. The sound of the 750cc engine filling the night as it echo off the tin walls of the hanger before shutting of the bike off for the night.
Down in the hanger Johnny was climbing off the bike, And taking the helmet off at the same time. Once the helmet was removed he placed it on the seat of the bike as it was two hours ago. Slipping one arm out of the backpack he also wore dropping it to the floor next to the bike. Along with the black and lime green jacket. He then walked over to a near by seat and more or less fell into it. One hand moved to comb through his black hair as the other fish out a pack of Marlboro's. “ So the Slayers has the key to end this whole thing. Their not going to try to end the wars. They merely want to rule the city in a whole. Putting us all right back where we were just ten years ago. I'm going to have to tell Ezra this if he doesn't already know. He'll have a plan.” By that time John had pulled the rolled up joint he had hiding with in the pack, Right next to the lucky, Finger pull the sweet tobacco to his lips as if they had a mind of their own. John didn't remember lighting it, Nor smoking half of the joint as he was lost in thought. But, By that time his mind had started to drift into unless thoughts and ideas. Like what-ever happen to Pinky and Brain... So knowing full well that his bike had woke Ezra up if wasn't already up. Johnny got up and walked over to his pack. Pulling the Colt 1918A1 9mm out of it along with the oil and tools for cleaning it. “ I'll give the boss another half hour then I'm pasting out...” Then going the round abouts of taking it apart....

kagent · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **kagent** on Fri Oct 31, 2008 6:02 pm

Kagent sat in the light shining in through a partially boarded up window, the morning sun just piercing through the Folstern street side of the Eagle base. He, as usual was the first to wake, and had already been out for his morning run, especially in hazardous times like his he needed to stay fit, and sane.

The sporadic, muffled sounds of movement were coming from Alica's room downstairs, she never had quite got the hang of ghost walking, a talent taught by his father. Hunter was still asleep, no one would wake him anyway, unless the base was attacked, which is becoming more and more frequent with the rise of the Cheetahs, although usually peaceful, their members had been spotted frequently in Eagle Territory.

Stripping and cleaning his pistol and rifle was a daily ritual also not ignored. A sort of prayer, one to not have to use them again....

xImxLostxWithoutxYou · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **xImxLostxWithoutxYou** on Fri Oct 31, 2008 7:11 pm

Trace had just finished writing up another report. It was nearly 4 in the morning. He hardly ever got sleep though, maybe 3 hours most nights if he was lucky. They were slow close to finding out this key. They needed to find out what it was and where. He'd heard a couple of rumors that the Southern Slayers had the key, but he wanted to be sure before they went into battle with them. Nobody knew what this Key looked like. Was it a normal key? Trace read over a written copy of the apparent 'Legend'...

The war began, with a key opening a door, and so the end of the war will be to a key locking it.
The Key may not be the type of key, or have the looks of a key, that opens the doors known to man.
The Key is made from Beauty, Love, Compassion and Thought.
And Shows no evil.
The Key began the war, and the Key ends the war.
The challenge though, is finding the Key and finding the door.
Like in the real world, there are many keys, to many doors...

Staring at the computer screen in the dark room, he squinted his blue eyes to stare at the screen. There had to be some way to get this key and destroy it. It needed to be destroyed so they could get the power of the city. Maybe they could utilise its power, he thought. Shaking his head, he leant them in the palms of his hands, trying to clear his head. He was way too tired to be thinking right now. For a moment, his thoughts drifted to his sister. She'd been missing for months. Since his parents died and they'd been split up in all the chaos. Part of him hoped that she was taken. That she didn't have the virus like the scan had shown her to have. He'd come back many years later, after been taken away to the camp and he'd been around for a couple of years but hadn't seen her. Hopefully she'd joined a gang like him and survived.

He took a hold of the mouse and moved it over to the 'PRINT' button on the screen. After a momentary pause, he clicked it, deciding to show Zee it in the morning. Maybe they could get Stormy in there to infiltrate the Southern Slayers lair and find out what this key was. But that would require some extensive planning on his half. More work. Work that he really didn't need.

Getting himself up, he let the document print out before putting into a folder, neatly presented. Trace suffered from OCD, so had to have everything ordered correctly and neatly, otherwise it would have to be printed again. When he was satisfied that his report was presentable, he closed the folder and shut down the computer before leaving the small office and heading to his bed, looking forward to been rewarded in a relaxing deep sleep that he'd been looing forward to all day.

-----

She could almost touch them. They were so close. Everything was so real. No. This couldn't be real. She'd watched them die. But they were there. They were standing right in front of her. She slowly moved her hand up and touched them. Her mother. Her father. They're skin felt so smooth, so real. Maybe this whole virus thing was a horrible nightmare. Maybe she'd been in an accident and was comatosed. Maybe she dreamt the virus, the gangs, the city. Sam closed her eyes, savouring the touch, wanting to remember the feeling as it felt like she hadn't touched in forever. Then Sam opened her eyes....

Darkness...It was pitch black. Not an image in sight. She blinked a few times, her eyes getting accustomed to the dark. It was a dream. Just a dream. Slowly she sat up, looking around and not hearing a sound. Everyone was most likely to be asleep. It was late but Sam couldn't go back to sleep right now. She'd been so close to touching her parents again. It had felt like it was real.

She'd been having this dream for a while now. She was always so close to them, everything here seemed like a dream at that point, but in reality it was the other way round and she was back to the real world. ...The pain you feel is real, you're not asleep but this is real, but you can wake up any time... Well Sam was cetainly awake now. She walked out onto a balcony of the appartment she was sleeping in on Southern Territories. She looked over the land and saw herself staring at her old school. ...No teachers. No guidance. And you always walk alone. You're crying at night. When no one else is home... She sighed and shook her head. Everything was so different to how it was imagined when kids imagined no adults were around. Everything was supposed to be a whole lot of fun. Showed how naive kids were. In the end it still turned out to be as bad, if not worse, than the world before.

Diary-chan · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Diary-chan** on Sat Nov 01, 2008 7:17 am

" Tch tch tch.... tch tch.... " Nikki made the little clicking noises with her tongue, a habit that usually got rid of people who lived to bother her when she was at work.

At this moment, she was working into the morning hours, trying to bring the life back into an old, run-down motorcycle. It was still smoking slightly, and as Nikki tried to oil the insides, it let out a new bout of the sickening smog. She coughed and covered her mouth as it passed, then set back to work.

Nikki was fixing the said bike outside of the Buddhist temple that was the headquarters for the Southern Slayers. She had no idea why the leader would want a headquarters here, when there were plenty of run-down apartments and factory buildings that went uninhabited around their territory.

Finally, the engine looked about done and Nikki stood up the bike, gunned the engine and grinned as she heard the roar. Her eyes roved the outside of the vehicle to inspect for any imperfections. The owner had obviously neglected the motorcycle, but it would run perfectly fine. She patted the handlebars and set the bike on a kickstand.

Standing up and grinning, Nikki wiped an already grease-smudged hand onto a dirty face. More often then not, one could find the brown-eyed brunette with stains on her baggy overalls and smudges on tanned skin.
" A job well done, " she murmured to herself, immediately regretting saying it as a memory flashed into her dedicated mind.

" Haha!! Mechy, mechy, again, again!! "
" Alright Nikki, one more time but then we have to go in. " And with that, the tall, muscelled and vigorous man turned a bolt, making smoke bust out of the machine and drawing unstoppable giggled from a (even then) grease-smudged little girl.
" A job well done. C'mon, girly, let's go get dinner. "
The man took her hand and the girl followed him happily, iside the little house to a hot, home-made dinner of mashed potatoes and beans.
Nikki had many such fond memories, but lately it was that one that flashed into her mind, creating an unusual somberness in the girl's eyes.

She put down the wrench, standing up and leaving her work behind as she twisted through the city streets, making sure to stay out of other territories. A left, left again, right..... and she was there. Before Nikki stood a small, one-story two-bedroom cottage, seemingly cold and empty and desolate. But the thirteen-year-old girl knew better, knew that here was where she would always be welcome. She opened the door and rushed in.

" Linda!! Hey, I know it's late, but... "
" You were thinking about Mechy again? " Linda came out dreary-eyed from the master bedroom. She smiled sadly.
" Yeah.... Linda, I miss him. "
" We both do, Nikki, we both do. " And with that, the frail-looking woman embraced Nikki, and they stayed like that for a few minutes. But the hug made her sad, because she knew that soon those moments would end for good.

OrangexDoorhinge · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **OrangexDoorhinge** on Sat Nov 01, 2008 11:33 am

OOC: {{This is my intro for Hunter. Rissa's intro will be posted as soon as possible.}}

Hm, He thought as he stared before him. Papers were scattered all around him, and he looked ready to fall asleep. Running a hand through his thick brown hair, he picked up the pile of Profiles. He picked up one sheet of paper and stared at it intently. A while back, he had asked all of his gang members to fill out small “Profile” papers. They just stated some of the members’ information (Name, age, date of birth, city, etc.). Cyan Ebony Mayze. 16 years old. Huh, I don’t know much about this girl. She seems quiet, and shy. I’ll have to pay more attention to her…

A small rustle sounded from about 10 feet left of him. The man’s dark eyes darted over to where the sound came from. A leaf had just blown in through the window. Sighing, he picked up his own Profile, made just a few weeks before. Turion Adam Hunter, man I hate that name. 24 years old. 6’2 feet, 200 pounds. Man, Turion sounds like some Japanese cartoon! Hunter. Hunter is good. He thought to himself as he went through the papers. The Northern Eagles was his gang, and he would do anything to keep it safe.

Unity, he thought. Unity. The Northern Eagles are not united at all. As a gang, we are all kept secrets from one another, and we can never be drawn together. I will work on this. Thoughts raced throughout Hunter’s head. Oh god. I really need to get some sleep. He hadn’t slept for days, and it was catching up to him. A white wife-beater fell over his upper body, which he had put on about two days ago. Jeans covered his legs, and both were dirty with sweat and grime. I need a shower.

Standing up, he looked around at the empty room. The Northern Eagles Headquarters were at an abandoned AMP warehouse. There were three floors they had dominated, and most were used. The first floor was used as the business center, the living room, the meeting place, and for most of the daily life of the gang members. The second floor was the sleeping and eating floor. The gang members slept there, and the food that they kept at the headquarters was stored and prepared there. The third floor was much disheveled, and falling apart. It was not used for much, except for storage. Sometimes they would keep a prisoner up there, but they didn’t have very many prisoners in the first place.

Hunter bent down to pick up his mess of papers. In a way, they were sorted into unruly piles, but one must have an imagination to see this. He picked up each pile, hoping everything was there, and tried to straighten them out. Finally, the papers were back in their original three piles. Hunter picked them up and walked towards the desk. On the first floor, Hunter kept all his “Leader Things” in one section. He had found a desk at a nearby junkyard, and used it to hold most of his papers and files. A Hewlett-Packard laptop sat open atop this desk, looking as though it was recently used. A document opened in Microsoft Word caught the eye of Hunter.

The war began, with a key opening a door, and so the end of the war will be to a key locking it.
The Key may not be the type of key, or have the looks of a key, that opens the doors known to man.
The Key is made from Beauty, Love, Compassion and Thought.
And Shows no evil.
The Key began the war, and the Key ends the war.
The challenge though, is finding the Key and finding the door.
Like in the real world, there are many keys, to many doors...

Ah, he thought. The Legend. Such a confusing riddle! What does it mean? Where is the Key? Who is the Key? What is the Key? Questions like these haunted Hunter’s mind. The Legend states that when the Key is found, the door can be opened, and the war will be put to an end. Hunter had been searching for this key ever since he heard the Legend. And maybe someday my searching will pay off…

Genimay · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Genimay** on Sat Nov 01, 2008 4:31 pm

Shayde

It was the tiny hours of morning but Shayde was awake. She had already showered and dressed hours ago. More often than not the fourteen-year-ol girl had trouble sleeping. Last night had been particularly wicked, everytime she closed her eyes images from memories blurred into something more sinister. Evenutally, Shayde had given up on getting any rest and got up to get ready to face another day.

Now, she was tieing off the last slim braid that was hanging from her scalp. Her still damp hair was pulled into a ridiculiously complicated myraid of clips and braids but it looked almost simple on Shayde. When done, she stood from her bed and stretched. A door closed and she knew Zee was up. Or rather, was coming inside from whatever she had been doing on the roof. Deciding that it was time to engage, Shayde picked up her orange tool belt and clipped it around her waist before pushing aside the sheet that served as her door and walking out.

The abadoned factory wasn't really a bad place to live. It reminded Shayde of the apartment she had lived in as a child. Though most of the memories from that time were bad it still brought her some kind of comfort. Self-conciously, Shayde tugged on the bottom of her sleevless shirt so her stomach didn't show before coming out of the shadows towards Zee.

Zee scared and confused Shayde most of the time. If the older woman wasn't terrifying Shayde with talk of battle's and killing Zee was looking much to goreous for Shayde to feel comfortable. Still, Zee was the leader and let the young girl stay so Shayde didn't bring up her discomfort. "Mornin' Zee." she greeted, pointedly ignoring the blood on her leaders arm.

****************************************************************
Cyan

Dark figure's came at her again and again. There was no escaping the iron grip and Cyan screamed.

Another blow fell on her head and she felt her teeth sink into the soft flesh of her tongue. Blood spurted everywhere and the teen choked on her own bodily fluid. "Come on Sweet Thing, you know you like it. Let me lick that blood up." a gruff voice whispered from behind her.

A warm tongue licked along Cyan's neck and up the side of her jaw. She slammed her head into her attackers. "You little b*tch!" he yelled and one of the other's came forward with a gun.

The butt of the rifle slammed into Cyan's temple...

Heart racing and body shaking, Cyan bolted up in her bed. The sheets were wrapped snuggly around her, imitating being trapped. For a moment, alone in the dark and fear still pumping through her system, Cyan struggled. Quickly, she gained control of herself and stopped. Still trembling, she untangled her legs and sat on the edge of her bed. Shadow's began to become appearent as her eyes adjusted. Her room was pretty bare as all she really did in it was sleep and get dressed. A couple books lay strewn on the floor but most of the books were kept downstairs in the living room. There was an old rocking chair Cyan had dragged from the junkyard and had claimed for herself. It sat in front of a tiny, beat up table that served as a desk. A lamp without a cover was the only thing on the desk. On the opposite side of the room from the bed there was a chest that held all of Cyan's clothes.

Bending to hold her head in her hands, Cyan sighed. ' Why did this have to happen? ' she thought uselessly.

Catching herself wanting to slip into a depressing thought cycle, Cyan forced herself to stand. Pale, worn out, blue pajama's clung to her, still damp with sweat. The girl grimaced and walked purposefully out of her room to one of the bathrooms to shower. She hated feeling dirty.

kagent · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **kagent** on Sun Nov 02, 2008 5:49 am

Lucus sat in the light for a while, the decrepid third floor was always a good place to think, quiet and rarely used he was often able to be alone there, which is what he had needed, he fiddled with the piece of paper in his pocket, had his details on it, the ones Hunter wanted. It was puzzling as to why. Lucus mulled over the paper, dirty and wrinkled it stated only the bare minimum. Lucus Contireu, 180lbs, 6ft, 17, male. Lucus wanted to write more, but he didn't know what, there was so much he could put down, but he couldnt trust anyone, it was war here, whatever anyone said, life was war, until all the gangs were united it would always be war, all they would know is war, until they died or united, war was all they would know. and this disheartened lucus more than anything.

Unrivalled Lucus was often refered to as an invulnerable on the street, one of the lords of war for certain, but only by necessity, he'd be the first to cast down his pistols, and rifle for peace, for a cure.

picking up his withered HB pencil Lucus added a note to his details:
if you want peace, prepare for war, for that is our life, and it will be so.

Diary-chan · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Diary-chan** on Sun Nov 02, 2008 9:11 am

" Hm? I suppose it is morning, " Zee replied, looking thoughtfully down on the younger girl with deep green eyes. No one had to tell the leader that she was intimidating. She felt sorry for Shayde, who was looking pointedly uncomfortable in her presence.

Zee didn't try to make people uncomfortable or intimidate them. It's just the way she was. Thinking this, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

But then Zee noticed how the girl was trying to ignore the blood that ran down the leader's arms. It was no secret. She didn't know why the girl was so timid, when she was obviously just a little bit curious.

" Wolves, " the leader said, holding up the dripping arm. Even in her own little self-torture, Zee was loyal to her own gang. She sighed and brought her free hand up to comb back the unruly, spiky white-blonde hair that she had been born with.

"Well. I guess I'll see ya. " With that, Zee turned and walked down another hallway, stepping into an incredibly in-tact room with a big window that viewed the night sky, and the moon that was just beginning to set. That's weird, Zee mused, the moon sets. Moonset.

Zee sighed and grabbed a dirty, blood-encrusted towel off her des and wiped clean her arms, putting on black leather fingerless gloves that reached to her elbows and covered the scars quite well. Then she ran a hand through her hair again, sighing and reciting the Prophecy. She had looked at the old, worn copy of it so many times.

"The war began, with a key opening a door, and so the end of the war will be to a key locking it.
The Key may not be the type of key, or have the looks of a key, that opens the doors known to man.
The Key is made from Beauty, Love, Compassion and Thought.
And Shows no evil.
The Key began the war, and the Key ends the war.
The challenge though, is finding the Key and finding the door.
Like in the real world, there are many keys, to many doors..."

Zee sighed again. What did it all mean? Was it really that hard to find something so seemingly obvious? Was it that hard to dispose of it? The Key. The end of the war. That was bad for the Wolves. If the war ended, then so would their reign.

So the Key had to die.

SilencexGolden · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **SilencexGolden** on Sun Nov 02, 2008 12:10 pm

"Why....just why are you leaving Lucy?" her parents screamed "because your dying and i don't want to be blamed your infected I'm not so thats the simplistic solution" she argued as she headed for the door, her uncle blocked her path but she hit him square in the stomach "Whatca think you can hurt me" she said as she kicked him out of the way

Lucy was crying 'why did i leave' she thought to herself. She was pacing back and forth around a grave, a family's grave,(Her brothers) she stood there a second 'why am i fighting for my life am i special or something' she thought once again to herself.

xImxLostxWithoutxYou · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **xImxLostxWithoutxYou** on Sun Nov 02, 2008 1:06 pm

Trace picked up the folder and walked out with it, deciding to see if Zee was up, which she was. He had brought together a report about the Key and the Legend, what it could be, and where it could be found. Rumors of it been with the Southern Slayers was something he couldn't prove, but he was sure as hell going to take them off of the list of having it. He wanted to know for sure that they didn't.

He walked down a hallway, glancing through the report again, checking everything about it out to make sure that it was all correct. It aslo contained appropriate suggestions for what they could do to see if the Southern Slayers had the Key. Of course, this included Stormy. The Key needed killing, and Stormy was going to be the guy for the job.

Trace finally got to her door and knocked lightly on it.

"Zee, it's me. You in?" He called out. "I've written up the report on the Key..."

Maestro · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Maestro** on Sun Nov 02, 2008 1:14 pm

"The war began, with a key opening a door, and so the end of the war will be to a key locking it.
The Key may not be the type of key, or have the looks of a key, that opens the doors known to man.
The Key is made from Beauty, Love, Compassion and Thought.
And Shows no evil.
The Key began the war, and the Key ends the war.
The challenge though, is finding the Key and finding the door.
Like in the real world, there are many keys, to many doors..."

Stormy said out loud, standing in the presence of the Wolves, shining his magnum. "What is the meaning of this endless riddle? A key that opens the door. A person that opens a door that can not be found by anyone but the key. 'Beauty, Love, Compassion, and Thought'. All traits that only a human could have, the key is alive, but what is it? An antidote perhaps? Someone sent by the God's to open the door which again, 'can not be found'." Stormy was amused by all of this, everything, it was so funny.

Rubbing his neck and wiping his pals with his eyes, his white hair streaming down into his face. "It's a girl."

Ylanne · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Ylanne** on Sun Nov 02, 2008 1:21 pm

Our only enemy is ourselves.... The most foolish are those who consider themselves wise... I love you... Then why have you forsaken me? Alas, you have struck the killing blow!

And blood flowed in rivers, innumerable, and stretching across forever... One hand reached out... What joy do you see? What life, and laughter? Like in the real world, there are many keys to many doors...

Voices whispered from empty corners, at once familiar and strange, shrill and gravelly, joyful and despairing. They echoed throughout time, across space, and resonated deep within, striking a chord that had been silent for too long.

Masogni Benoni Timatanga was alone in the meditation hall on the first floor of the Shu Mei Temple. The room was massive, a staggering length of three hundred feet with a width of two hundred feet. The floor was impressed, two steps down on all sides, and the ceiling seventy-five feet up. Built from unpolished granite, the building was always cold, and the Southern Slayers just didn't have the time or money to pay for a ridiculously expensive heating system.

The leader of the Southern Slayers was an unimpressive man. Lean and spindly, Masogni was shorter than average, although taller than many women, with dark hair pushed back severely. His flesh was of a white pallor, but his eyes seemed almond-shaped. Masogni's face and jawline, however, were a dead ringer for Usama bin Ladin.

He wore a grey shalwar kameez in a coarse cotton material, and squatted on the stone floor. In front of him was a laptop that was quickly losing battery power. His long, bony fingers flew gracefully across the keypad, writing the latest blog entry in his anonymous online journal.

If the hunter and the prey are the same person, then what is the object? What is accomplished when the prey is caught, slain by the hunter? We are too often prisoners of our minds, and of our own thoughts. Thus, we must transcend the prison of human thought and reason, and become one with what is around us.

Let us not find peace through death, but rather, through life and the living. The key has been found. But knowledge and wisdom, and things of man have clouded our vision and foresight, and alas, we are lost and without direction. To find true peace, to seek Truth, is to walk a lonely path. It is to venture into the vast unknown.

Masogni saved the entry, published it, and shut down the laptop with only five percent of the battery's power to spare. He sat, then, alone in the silence, for a long time. Samantha was gone. The Key had slipped from his hands before he could solve its mystery. Is there any hope for us? Masogni wondered. Perhaps not.

His college professors had often counseled him for being irrational, and thinking on a plane beyond their understanding. But was it wrong to consider factors others had overlooked? Was it wrong to find truth in the most unorthodox of ways? It was ironic, Masogni mused, that he was a pacifist and yet led a violent gang called the Southern Slayers. But all truth is a lie, and all life is one paradox. It was appropriate then, that life was this way.

Under his breath, he quietly chanted the prayers of a Buddhist monk, before rising and making his way upstairs to his private suite of rooms. They were austere. The opening office and reception area held a desk and a few comfortable chairs for guests, but the inner office and his private sleeping area were sparsely furnished, with a thin sleeping mat and a smaller, shorter table where he took tea.

Masogni left the laptop on the table and looked out the arched window over the city. Depressing, as usual, the sun did not shine and the clouds were grey. He lifted his eyes and wondered, who would be the next to die? How much death would there be before an answer could be found?

Hard questions.

Diary-chan · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Diary-chan** on Sun Nov 02, 2008 1:30 pm

" Oh, come in Trace. Whatcha got for me? " Zee turned away from the night sky, and towards the door that was the only entrance to her room. The walls were gray and cracked, the ceiling was missing a panel, and the floors were dirty concrete. The room itself was bare and uninviting; the only furniture was the bed, a desk and computer, a table, and the closet where she kept her varieties of weapons and knives. Most of the utensils in the closet were bloodstained. Zee never bothered to clean them; the blood gave them a foreboding look, kind of scary and suspicious. And fear was best stricken into the hearts of enemies.

Opening the door, Zee gave a brief smile in greeting to her "friend", if that term could be used.
" Hey, Trace. I suspect you've been working all night to get that report. I appreciate it. " Zee nodded with approval; then stepped aside and ushered Trace into the room.

Skadaddle09 · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Skadaddle09** on Sun Nov 02, 2008 2:46 pm

Lyle sat hunched over a microscope. He was studying a sample of some of the member's blood, and he was close. He looked away from the microscope, jotted down a few things, then looked back into the machine. He twisted the knobs, getting more and more excited with each adjustment. This sample was perfect.

He took the test tube full of the sample over to another work bench, grinning a little the whole time. He mixed a few chemicals he'd been working with in a beaker, and watched as they fizzed a little before the concoction turned to a pale yellow color.

He had to steady himself to mix the blood with the chemical. He was a little shaky from the excitement. He'd been piecing together this formula for months, and the older scientists had laughed it off. He'd show them. He mixed a few drops of the formula with the blood sample, stirred it in, then carried it over to the microscope. Replacing the slide, he examined the specimen intently. Eagerness bubbled inside him as he adjusted the knobs. Finally, the microscopic beast came into focus.

"Damn!" He threw his hands in the air, and paced around the lab. What had he done wrong? He was almost sure this would have worked. He ran his hand through his hair, then walked up the stairs into the Buddhist temple that was the Slayers. The lab was in the basement, but he needed a break after that disappointment.

Leila Aarons · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Leila Aarons** on Sun Nov 02, 2008 6:45 pm

Alicia heard noises from downstairs, and after a few moments, she dragged herself to her feet. She supposed it was time to get out of her room and try and find the rest of the gang, see what they were going to do about this riddle. They had been trying to solve it for awhile now, all of them, but to no avail.

As she walked out the door, a sigh escaped her lips, and her gaze just remained on the ground. After getting down the stairs, she lifted her head and looked around, trying to see who else was down here. Seeing Hunter, she walked over to him, stopping once she was close enough to be easily heard. "So what's the news today, boss? Any missions to undertake?"

World Of Our Own

a topic in Realistic Roleplay, a part of the RPG forum.

World Of Our Own

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Re: World Of Our Own [2 Places Left!!! Hurry!!!]

Re: World Of Our Own [2 Places Left!!! Hurry!!!]

Re: World Of Our Own [2 Places Left!!! Hurry!!!]

Re: World Of Our Own [2 Places Left!!! Hurry!!!]

Re: World Of Our Own [2 Places Left!!! Hurry!!!]

Re: World Of Our Own [2 Places Left!!! Hurry!!!]

Re: World Of Our Own [2 Places Left!!! Hurry!!!]

Re: World Of Our Own [2 Places Left!!! Hurry!!!]

Re: World Of Our Own [2 Places Left!!! Hurry!!!]

Re: World Of Our Own [2 Places Left!!! Hurry!!!]

Re: World Of Our Own [2 Places Left!!! Hurry!!!]

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