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Forgotten: No one can escape. A great flash emerged above all of Aronia leaving each with short term memory loss. Years lost to the fog of amnesia. Can no one recall? That appears to be the case. Whom or what is responsible? Panic has stricken the globe. Will civilization collapse? What will emerge from the reset? Only time will tell. To each citizen of Aronia from the Global Gazette, we wish all luck.
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Murderous Among Us -Story Starter
Topic Started: Jun 1 2006, 11:41 AM (1,060 Views)
queen_gwenefiere
Unregistered


OOC: Alright guys, and gals! Here is a story starter for you all. Lol I love to write! But I hold no characters in the story, they are all open to whoever wants to play them and you can add whoever you want to to the bunch. But I thought you may like a little goodie to play with. Here you go!!!





The wind rushed through the groups hair as they traveled on their boards toward their destination. The evening was cool, and comfortable. There was no threat of rain, as the stars glittered melodiously in their comfortable nest of indigo sky. Motors could be heard and the smell of smoke was not unfamilier to the City Nose. Trevisan was a work of art really, Crafted on thick pillars that rose above the world in splendor and cast a shadow much too large for the land below it, which had begun to grow stunted and unhealthy from the lack of sunshine. The city stood almost three hundred feet in the air, supported by it's pillars, and many smaller cables and poles. The people trusted their foundation, as Earth Technology made it simpler for them to create such structures, and be confident in their ability. The little group of boys, that sailed through the streets and alleys were only a few of the believers in such technology. Many of them had never seen anything that was below the city, only from afar. The occasional Dragon came, but it usualy had a master. Only once, had such a scare occured, where it was a wild dragon that came to tea. Trevisan had been lucky though, and the dragon had passed without confrontation.

They wound around the buildings, the low hum of the 281 SRT Hovabords, rippleing through their flesh. They wore simple attire, much like denim pants and tee-shirts, Back Sacs slung over shoulders. It was a way of life to them, the way of life that they were most comfortale with, one they only knew. They were sheltered really, unsure of most of what happened around them. The humans had made themselves like caged rats. People went up, as well as other races, and mostly just the other races returned to the bottom. Humans, unless licensed, were not permited to the world below. It was almost like a carnival to them. The Queen of Endymion forbade flying vehicles in her lands, other than to which they were attached. Thus the reason such vehicles were not found else where. Around the last corner, the group of teens stopped, touching the senors on the boards faces with a smart foot. They slowed quickly, but being used to the crafts, they did not fall off or fly forward. The building, at which they stopped was the group home of their families. Because of such a small space, the city was forced to build upwards, rather than out. The group was full of laughter and happiness, at their lessons being over and quickly rushed to get off their boards and up the steps and into the building. The oldest boy was not so happy though. Something bothered him, a feeling inbetween his stomach and his ribs. A stitch of panic had found it's way into him. He didn't know why, only that it was there and that somehting bad was about to happen or happened already. He followed after the others a good distance, he did not want to look suspicious, lest the others look oddly at him. He was the oldest, and didn't want to strike fear into the rest of them. He found Endymion odd, full of energy and meaning which he could not put his finger on. He did not remember Earth, but accepted it's history, and Hoped to some day go there and study the making of Oxygen. WIth a heavy heart, he climbed the steps, to the entrance hall of the ten story building. His Home was the second floor, so his walk was not quite as long as the others. Lagging and silent he made his way up the steps, to the balcony, that led around to his door. His family was not poor, which explained their place in the greater district of the city, and the size of their home. His mother was a architect and his father, lived on the ruins of Earht, and worked in the field that The boy also hoped to join. His father was a higher technician in the making of Air for the desolate Earth's populace, which lived in huge plastic-like buildings. It really was quite unique. The boy did not think of that though, as he was heading for the open door of their home.

A crack ran the length of the door, thin, yet visable. The electronic lock dangled from it's remaining cord, from the left side of the door. Fear filled him greater, feeding off what was already placed in him. The door was ajar, and all was quiet. His ears had lost the rumble of the outside world, as his panic grew to terror. Break-ins were unusual, but not unheard of. But if it had only been a break-in, there would have been police and his mother already there, and searching. There was no Macro tape, and no sign of life in the hall. Stepping to the door, he pushed it gently, the sound of air billowing through came to him from inside. He stepped through, slowly, precisely, feeling for the boards that would creak at his presence, so he could avoid them, out of instinct. The house was untouched, to his supriese as he made his way through the front hall and into the parlor. Something caught his eye though. A small drop of red lay on the taupe carpet, shining and bright in overhead lights. bending he examined it, but concluded nothing. A little farther off there was another drop. Pushing up rigidly, she folowed the trail to the back hall, and through that to his parents bedroom. The door was closed but not locked, and gave way, when he pressed the button for it to open. Stepping into the dark, Her searched the wall for the switch, fear building even higher in his chest, tightening and clasping his heart with an iron fist. His fingers found it finaly nad clicked it one, the vision before him, given light. A shriek sounded through the building from his lips, as he looked upon the dead, nude, mutilated body of his mother. She lay tethered by her throat to the bed, blood pooling around her and even off the edge of the bed to the hardwood floor. Losing conciousness, the boy hit the floor, a igure coming from behind him, and pressing the gun to his head. The Man pulled the trigger, the bullet takeing the boys life and even some of his brains. The Mna grinned, dipping his fingers into the blood, and putting it to his nose, smelling the life, and warmth of the boys essence. Returning to full height, the giant re-holstered his gun and backed through the door, careful not to get any blood on his shoes. Clicking the light off, he closed the door and returned to his vantage point in the room across the hall, settling himself on the boys bed, and listening. He was crazy, a lunatic really, and he had a mission all his own, one of his own devising. He had a grudge, a problem with the family, the father especialy. The Father was due back in the hour from Earth for a suprise visit to his family. How Doryan knew was a secret for him only, as he had heard it from noone but his own perception. Mitchell (the father) had wronged him and within himself he kept dibs on the people who had caused him pain or aggravation. Doryan found that experiments were not fair, especialy when they were on you. Listening intently, he waited for his old friend to return to the home. Doryan was in the mood to kill.
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Davyn
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whippersnapper
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(( OOC: You have a very sick mind. I'm afraid that demented psychos can't go unpunished. This is gonna be fun as crap. Muahaha! ))

Mitchell Carpenter sighed in relief, wiping the sweat that had beaded up on his forehead. The supervisor cpu had just announced that third shift was over in its now familiar feminine tones. He and half a dozen other men in the vicinity began making their way to the timeclock to punch out. A hispanic man jogged to catch up to Mitchell, slapping him lightly on the back.

"Goin' back to visit la familia, eh, Mitch? You lucky dog! Whose rear you have to shove your nose up to get leave for two weeks during harvest season?"

"Ugh...don't get me started, Enrique. Just about everyone's I'd say. But I haven't seen them in months and Warner knows that. Besides," he grinned, "I know you'll work EXTRA hard to cover for me, won'tcha, pal?"

"En tus sueños, chancho!" (translation: "In your dreams, pig!")

Mitchell merely grinned and laughed as the two of them reached the timeclocks. They were sophisticated devices: a combination palm scan, voice print recognition system, and retinal scanning unit. Enrique reached the unit first, pressing his right palm against a small contoured panel and peering into the retinal scanner that hugged the upper portion of his face. He cleared his throat and said in as clear of an accent as he could manage, "Torres, Enrique." A bright green light shone above the timeclock and a female computerized voice chimed: "Identification confirmed. Have a nice day, Mr. Torres." The security officer nearby nodded and touched something on his palm screen with a penlike stylus, "Next. Keep it comin', people. Everyone's anxious to get home."

Enrique turned and waved just beyond the gates mouthing something in Spanish. Mitchell smiled to himself and stepped up to the timeclock to take his turn. He pressed his palm against the panel and gazed into the retinal scanner. Clearing his throat, he stated his name, "Carpenter, Mitchell" However, instead of clearing him like it had on hundreds of other similar days, a bright red light appeared over the timeclock, accompanied by a harsh, annoying buzz and a notification from the computer:

ERROR. PLEASE WAIT FOR AN AUTHORITY.

The security officer sighed, rolling his eyes and stepping forward. Mitchell backed away from the time clock, looking confused, "Hey, what's up with this? I finally get leave and the dang timeclock won't let me leave?!" The security officer produced a clearance card and swiped it through a corresponding slot, "Eh, don't sweat it, Mitch. I been tellin 'em we need to get this crap updated. This program's older than my great grandpa..." The red light and error message was now gone. Mitchell glanced at the officer, who nodded in the affirmative. Then, repeating the process, he spoke his name again, "Carpenter, Mitchell" This time, the green light appeared, along with the confirmation message: "Identification confirmed. Have a nice day, Mr. Carpenter."

Mitchell gave a rueful smile, "That's more like it..."

The security officer shook his head and checked of Mitchell's name on his palm screen, "Have a nice vacation, Mitch. Say hi to the wife and kids for me."

"Sure thing, Jake. Hold down the fort while I'm gone."

The security officer smiled, then beckoned the next employee forward. Mitch walked through to the lobby and gathered up his things, then put on a special suit that would protect him from any environmental hazards during his journey, as well as helping to home in on the signal generated from the gatherer unit on Trevison. For the most part, the planet Aronia was unknown to the general populace of Earth. Even fewer knew of it on Lextain. But Mitchell's grandfather himself had been a native of the magical planet who had sought to be among his own on their homeworld. Yet there was a certain understanding among the portal operators with those who knew of this realm. Each denizen of Aronia had a small microchip implanted in their shoulders to identify them to those who knew what to look for. Thus the actual destination of the traveler could be ascertained without verbal communication. If word ever got out to the government that Aronia still existed and was not merely a child's bedtime story, then they would surely try to find a way to exploit the planet's resources.

The actual process of traveling to the transport docks and arriving in Trevison took nearly 45 minutes. Again, he had to go through the security clearances so that the portal operators were sure he was who he claimed to be. Fortunately, there were no error messages this time and all went smoothly. The portal to Trevison was simple enough; it was ten feet tall and five feet wide---a rectangular doorway of sorts. When the operators threw the corresponding switches, plasmatic energies formed in the empty space and one simply had to step through it. The individual's molecules were then disassembled and hurtled through an alternate dimension at ten times the speed of light. Once the molecules reached their destination, the computer in Trevison went about the task of realigning them in the proper sequence and the individual would emerge in Aronia unscathed. Needless to say, there had been a long period of trial and error when the portal system had first been instated and quite a few fatalities had occurred. But that was decades ago and there hadn't been any problems since.

Mitchell emerged from the portal in Trevison wholly intact and the operators gave him the thumbs up, welcoming him home. No one else was scheduled to come through from Earth for at least several hours, so they went about the process of shutting down the portal while Mitch went through customs. He had very little with him...just a small suitcase with some spare clothes and another small toolbox that he carried with him everywhere it seemed. One never knew when something would break, after all. Once he was cleared, he took a hovercab to the residential district that housed his apartment complex. He couldn't wait to see Emily and Stan again. He hadn't told them he was coming. He could see the looks on their faces now!

As Mitchell emerges from the elevator on his designated floor, he does a double take. His door was ajar. More than that, though...the lock had been busted and was hanging by a single wire! Panic took hold of him for a moment. Their apartment had been broken into. But where were the authorities? Where were Emily and Stan! He had to do something. If either of them were hurt...Swallowing the lump in his throat, Mitchell makes his way to the door and gently pushes it open, not making a noise. Inside, the lights were on. Everything looked normal. But...what was that? On the carpet...He creeps in further, leaving the door open, and kneels down to inspect. He presses his fingertips to the dark red spot. It was moist. He smells it. Blood! Fresh, too! Mitchell sets his suitcase down on the floor and opens his toolbox. Inside were dozens of tools for everything from screwing in screws to welding irinium ore. He pulls out the plasma welder now and turns it on. A glowing blue-white light eminates from the end of the device as Mitch makes his way towards the dining room, trying his best not to alert anyone that may still be in the apartment...
Blizzard Exec #1: I don't have a World of Warcraft account! Do you?
Blizzard Exec #2: No...*sigh* I have a life.
Randy Marsh: Give me the sword! I have a Warcraft account. I'm a newb, but I may be able to get it to Stan in time.
Blizzard Exec #1: A newb! We can't trust the Sword of A Thousand Truths to a newb!
Randy Marsh: It sounds to me like you have no choice!
--South Park
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queen_gwenefiere
Unregistered

OOC: Ah I couldn't help myself! Lol Here is a posty, Hope some more people Join! Good Post Davyn, Kick ass actualy. :D ANd yes...My mind is very demented. Lol That's what makes me the Rper I am. Anyways, only the good are shameful, cause the bad don't care. :P


IC: Doryan sat for a good time, in the quietness of the room. It smelled of laundry detergent and linen, and below there was a faint trace of chocolate. It brought back memories of his childhood, one spent with a loving family and friends. Until, that was, his family was blown in by none other than Mr. Tardy himself. It had been for something petty, but his whole family had been wrecked, and He taken into adoption, and his parents in prison. The plain blue blankets were rolled up under him from hours of fidgeting, unloading and reloading his gun, and more fidgeting. At one point he almot fell asleep, but the rumble of a passing motor brought him back to full conciousness. He was thirsty, but refused to move from his post, at the head of the teens bed, his back to the wall in which the door sat. He waited patiently though, listening with the deepest sense that he could. His heart thudded loudly in his ears, as he had high-blood pressure and the excitement of his kill had only brought it up a couple of notches more. He hated Mitchell with apassion and that gave way to hate for all that the man touched and made. It had taken a good amount of searching to finaly find him, but he did, after fifteen years, of living in the wild world of Aronia and then finaly returning a couple of years ago. At twenty-two, he was a giganticly tall man, his auburn hair to his shoulders and around his face, accentuating his jade eyes. Had his face not usualy been contorted with a look of pure insanity, he would have been good-looking, but there was no such luck for a person like him. AMongst his thoughts, he was safe though as was everyone else.


The Sky darkened as he peered through the small closed window of the boys room. He guessed his name was Stan as there was a hand drawn poster with The name and a group of hand drawn dragons entwined artisticaly around it. "Too bad the kid was an artist..." He thought to himself as he admired the drawing from afar. A low crackle caught his ear though straightening his spine and sending shivers through the whole of his body. His hearing heightened a little, and he could barely make out the sound of slow precise foot falls on the carpeted floor of one of the outer rooms. Pushing himself from the bed, he raised his gun, pointing it at the thin hollow door, that seperated the room from the hallway. He would be ready. He did not plan to Kill the man instantly, but at leaste get some information from him, and then take his time, severing the man limb from limb, finger from hand, toe from foot.
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Davyn
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whippersnapper
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(( OOC: A short one here. I figured that there probably SHOULD be some signs of a struggle in here. You don't subdue a woman, strip her naked, disembowel her, and lash her to her own bed without some resistance. Hehe. Btw, go ahead and assume that this guy finds Doryan in your next post. ))

As Mitchell enters the dining room, the first thing he sees is that the chairs are strewn about. The table was on its side and the cabinet containing their dinette sets was smashed to pieces. Mitch's heart skips a beat. These were obvious signs of a struggle. What in the world was going on here?! Slowly, he forces himself to calm down and goes back out into the hallway. He follows the trail of blood splotches on the carpet. There was even a bloodied footprint...a sneaker. Oh, Lord, not Stan! He hesitates at the door that led to the master bedroom that he and his wife shared. He was almost afraid of what he would find in there...No, scratch that. He was terrified of what he would find.

Slowly, he pushes open the door, reaching for the lightswitch...and simply stares at the scene that's before him. He doesn't even scream. His eyes water up and cloud his vision as he falls weakly to his knees. He drops the plasma welder; it starts burning a hold through the carpet. Mitchell brings his hands to his face and weeps. He realizes he is covered in his son's blood. In fact, he was kneeling in a pool of it. What had happened? Who could DO such a ghastly thing to a woman and...and a child?!! It was beyond reason...and it filled him with rage. Not thinking, he picks the plasma welder back up and runs out of the bedroom in a fury. If the murderer was still anywhere in the vicinity, Mitch would...he would...he would make the son of a whore pay for this!!!

"Come out, you coward! I swear I'll rip out your intestines and hang you with them!!!" He continued in this manner, ranting, raving and swearing up a storm as he went from room to room. Pretty soon, he would come upon the room where Doryan was hiding...
Blizzard Exec #1: I don't have a World of Warcraft account! Do you?
Blizzard Exec #2: No...*sigh* I have a life.
Randy Marsh: Give me the sword! I have a Warcraft account. I'm a newb, but I may be able to get it to Stan in time.
Blizzard Exec #1: A newb! We can't trust the Sword of A Thousand Truths to a newb!
Randy Marsh: It sounds to me like you have no choice!
--South Park
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LadySabre
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Elder
Co-Admin
OOC: I don't know why, but I just got the idea to make this a real cat and mouse type story. LoL.

IC:

Natalia smiled to the girl on the hovaboard next to her. She was her best friend thus far. Natalia had only been attending the school for a few weeks, after all. She'd transfered from a "school" across town. Of course, she hadn't gone to mentioning to her new friends that the school she'd attended was for special operations people. Natalia du Linsierre was the youngest special operations at Maverick by at least 5 years. She didn't let that thought bother her. The other agents were all nice enough (except when on missions they didn't exactly enjoy) and never made fun of her (at least not to her face). But then again, in order to get into the school, one had to be mature. Sadly, that wasn't so for the students at the average high school here on Trevison.

Putting her foot over the sensor to slow and then stop her hovaboard, she hopped lightly to the ground just outside her and her parents' home. As usual, she stepped down quickly on the back end of the board, sending the top end up and into her hands. At first, the other kids had been in awe of her move, but she'd taught a majority of them how to do it, so now it wasn't such a "totally rad" thing to do. Her violet eyes flickered over to the boy named Stan. He was only around a year older than her - not bad looking, either. He was being unusual today.

Natalia frowned. Stan was her mission. Nuding her friend, she let her know that she had to stop on the first floor to get the mail. Stan was lagging behind the others. Something twitched inside Natalia, sending her into agent mode. Hefting her hovaboard into her right hand, she made her way over to the boxes and then inserted her key. By the time she'd gathered all the mail - two envelopes and a magazine, all of which were junk - Stan had already gone up the stairs to where his house was. The head honchos at Maverick had obviously known that was his floor, as they'd put her on the second floor as well.

When she reached her hall, all was quiet. Stan had already gone into his house. Grumbling to herself, she let herself into her own small, one-bedroom house. Quickly shutting and bolting the door, she dropped her hovaboard and school sack to the floor, making a quick dash to her room. In minutes, she had stripped her school clothes and adorned her usual mission clothes - a dark set of tight, but not too tight, clothes; a utility belt; a small pistol; and a knife in her right boot.

Pulling her shoulder length hair into a tight bun at the back of her head, she put a pair of black ivory chopsticks which had been sharpened to a point at the tip, into it. Instead of using the door again, she climbed onto her bed and then dresser until she could easily climb up into the air vent, which she quickly unscrewed.

Her movements were quick, but quiet as she made her way towards Stan's home. Her entire body stopped as a sound broke the silence. Natalia became much more alert as she scurried through the air vents. Her hand slid down, grabbing her pistol from its holster and switching the safety off. He was here. And he was in Stan's apartment. She only hoped Stan's mother hadn't been home. Or that the gunshot she'd just heard hadn't been for him. What she hoped the most, though, was that Stan's father hadn't arrived home yet. He was scheduled to pay a surprise visit home to his family today.

Due to her small size, she was able to crouch somewhat comfortably near the vent that led into Stan's room. Stan wasn't there, but a tall, familiar man was. He held a gun in his hands. She scowled. Nothing stirred in the house and she knew Stan was no longer in this plane of living. She shed no tears for the boy, but her heart ached for the family. Putting on a serious face, she readied herself to jump down, bullets blazing, but footsteps in another room caught her attention.

The man below her shifted. She could tell simply by his anticipated movements that it wasn't Stan that stirred just outside the door. Raising her right foot up, she slammed the steel-toed boot down into the metal grate, sending it crashing to the floor. She hit a button in her suit and a forcefield went up around her - courtesy of Maverick. Her body dropped the few feet to the floor and she raised her pistol so that it pointed at the man's head.

"Show's over, buddy," she growled. Raising her voice, she hoped the man just outside the room was the man she was trying to save, and she hoped he was smart. "Mitchell Carpenter, if that's you and if you've got a brain in your head, you'll get out of this house right now. It's currently not safe." She pulled the trigger on her pistol. Doryan was wanted dead or alive, so it mattered not to her whether her bullet penetrated his skull or his right arm. What mattered was that it hit him and slow him down so Mitchell could get away.
Wash: I think they really captured his essence.
Kaylee: He looks kinda mean.
Wash: That's sorta what I meant.
Simon: This must be what going mad feels like.
Kaylee: Everywhere I go, his eyes keep followin' me...
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queen_gwenefiere
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Doryan's head snapped upwards at the slight hollow shuffling sound he heard above. Surely there was no rat that would be that loud. He stiffened as it came closer, his hyper sensitive picked up alot. He did not expect, though, a woman to drop through and into his face. He heard Mitchell outside the Dorr, and now was stuck with the smart, sneaky little shit in his face. Pushing up from he place, he stood between her and the door Mitchell stood behind. He wanted to shut her up, but it was too late, and she had a gun.

"There is no Show Sweetheart, Except from maybe your end of the deal." He grinned maliciously, his eyes scanning all about him for an Idea. The gears in his head moved a hundred miles in only seconds. A thin stream of light flicked on suddenly from nearby, reminding him of the window. The street light's halo created a sillouette of the fire escape. He knew what he would do. FLipping reality back on, he started to speak, but the gunnshot came, and he felt the hard stinging agonizing pressure of it in his side. She got him below the ribs. He staggared backwards and bent slightly, before returning to full height. WIthout warning, his legs pumped like pistons, and he flew at her, bending slightly, and taking her up by the center, heaving forward and through the glass, out into the night air. He hoped she would fall all the way, and grabbed at the very last moment onto the fire escapes lower rail. Below though was a balcony, where she had fallen. It would not do. Letting go, he dropped the eight feet, landing on the one story balcony, pain shooting through his abdomen. Pulling his own gun free, the large Ancient revolver he had salvaged from a fire, he pointed it at her, his trained finger hugging the trigger.

"Now what did I evah' do to you, ta get treated like that?" He sounded hurt almost by what she did.His face switched personalities quickly though and he spoke in another accent, one that was almost from brooklyn. His frame of mind had changed as well. TO something more sinister.

"Soh Dahlin, What's in gonna be? Purgatory or Hell?" It was as if he were a completely different person! He was nuts, psycho, Looney, bonkers, loopy, and the whole fries and toy short of a happy meal. He did not change again this time, only watched the woman who had put a good sized hole in his ribs. Mitchell was lost for the moment, to his mind, but not forgotten.
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Davyn
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whippersnapper
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(( OOC: Gah! Sabre, you screwed up everything. Oh well, I'll try to salvage this. Also, I know that you guys are pretty casual about combat interactions here, but I'm used to the T1 style of para RP. The unwritten rules of such are many, but normally when attacking another character, your own character's actions must be posted in suppositions of what COULD happen, rather than "autoing" any particular gesture. Thus, Doryan's actions in the previous post could technically be voided by Sabre if she chose because her character was not given the IC time to react. Exceptions to this general rule usually only occur when no other action would be feasible by conventional means. i.e. when a character has a gun pointed point blank at his or her head, it would be impossible [unless this individual had special talents or abilities] to dodge the bullet. I will try to play fair and not "auto" any actions on any other characters that are controlled by other players. I only ask that the same courtesy be extended to all of my own characters and/or NPC's I come up with unless otherwise dictated. I promise not to be unreasonable; if a punch is swung at a character with poor reaction time, then that chara will get hit! Thank you for listening to my ramblings. Have a nice day! ))

Mitchell was about to kick open the door to the laundry room (where Doryan was hiding) when he suddenly heard the sounds of grating metal and a subsequent struggle. Someone was definitely in the house with him...and he was willing to bet that it wasn't the neighbors dropping in to borrow a cup of sugar! Then he heard a voice from within the room. Female. Young. "Mitchell Carpenter, if that's you and if you've got a brain in your head, you'll get out of this house right now. It's currently not safe."

What in the world?! Now there were TWO intruders in his house? Great. That was just great. Some foolhardy girl had somehow gotten into his house and was in there with another person whom he assumed to be the murderer of his family. Suddenly there were gunshots from within the room! Mitchell heard a low grunt, then felt the vibrations from within as the two struggled and then fell through the small window and outside. They were actually only five stories up, but it was still quite a fall to the ground. Wasting no more time, Mitch throws open the door and hurries into the room. Obviously, there was no longer anyone in sight. He goes straight to the window. How on Aronia had they managed to break through the trasparent titanium fiberglass??! The force required to do so would be equivalent to smashing through a foot and a half of hard drywall and plaster! If either one had survived the fall, then consciousness would be unlikely. Ah...no, there they were. He could barely make out the two shadowy figures on the stone balcony. They were both conscious, it seemed! But how---? Oh...the fire escape. They must have grabbed hold of it and broken the fall somewhat. Still, they would both be injured. Broken and/or fractured bones, at least.

Mitchell Carpenter's facial expression quickly changes from one of rage and fear to one of calm annoyance. He extinguishes the plasma welder he's carrying and tosses it haphazardly to the floor...The air surrounding Mitchell suddenly shimmers like heatwaves rising from hot asphalt. As it does so, Mitchell's average features waver and reshape themselves. In a matter of only a few short seconds, the figure of Mitchell Carpenter is replaced by a far more menacing presence. The shape was definitely humanoid; bipedal with the standard four limbs, torso, and head. It wore some form of armor that was jetblack and reflected minimal light, allowing it to blend more easily into the shadows of the night. In stark contrast to the majority of the armor, however, bright bloodred lines traveled along the contours of the body, glowing brightly and seeming to pulsate like a heartbeat. The figure's head was fully encased in an oddly shaped helmet. The chin jutted out a bit too much and there was a slight protrusion like a raptor's beak near the forehead; a visor of sorts. From the side, the helmet was ovular in design, tapering to a point at the rear. The effect made it appear that a small "tail" was jutting out behind the helmet. Where a visor normally would have been was a large, singular bloodred lens---an optical sensor of the most technologically advanced kind---that gave the wearer the appearance of a sinister cyclops. Very few details of the rest of the armor could be seen from the shadows in which it hid. If one looked close enough, though, they would be able to make out the jutting edges of shoulderpads, boots, and gauntlets. The majority of the details, however, were covered up by a voluminous poncho-type cloak.

Very few denizens of the known galaxy had looked upon this figure and lived to tell the tale. Even fewer in here in Aronia. Obviously this being was not Mitchell Carpenter. It had been slightly worried when the timeclock back on Earth had initially rejected the override codes that had been generated to verify "Mitch's" identity. A last minute recalibration had prevented any further slipups. The hunter---for that was what it was---chastised itself. The procedure was getting sloppy...and the acting was horrible. Yet subtlety normally preceeded success. Many a hunt had gone askew by acting rashly. It was frustrating at times, but neccessary to maintain anonymity. Especially at this point in time. The hunter had gotten wind of one Doryan Charrd's parole while on a routine visit to the Earth sector. Normally nothing interesting ever happened with ex-convicts, but it was in the figure's nature to keep track of such records in case anything DID happen. As it happened, Doryan had skipped parole and disappeared from the local authorities. But not from the hunter. Aronia was not a realm it liked to frequent; so-called "magic" was hard to nullify...even for its ship's superior assimilation database. Nevertheless, the reward on Doryan's head would help to pay for the neccessary expenses of the trade. It had been difficult to intercept the real Mitchell Carpenter on his way to work that morning and even harder to impersonate him all day. But the figure had hacked into the oxygen harvesting plant's database and studied Carpenter's bio as it went along. The murder of the man's wife and child was indeed a disturbing turn of events. Doryan was wanted alive by the Earth authorities...but now the hunter was sorely tempted to simply sever the man's head with one quick flick of a plasma glaive.

The hunter zoomed in on the shadowy figures of Doryan and the girl below. The view magnified to ten times normal size, augmented by night vision to increase clarity. The revolver in Doryan's hand illuminated in bright green, then was subsequently magnified even larger in a subscreen while the Ethernet's database ran checks on it, scrolling data and identifying the various parts of the pistol. The hunter paid them little heed. It had already figured out what it wanted to know. The pistol was ancient...made mostly of common metals: galvanized steel, lead, iron, and other trace elements.

The dark figure muttered to itself, its voice coming out just above a whisper in harsh mechanical tones that made it impossible to verify the hunter's gender, "Mavericks...amateurs." A simple mental command activates the ion retrieval system. Most of the hunter's weapons were shrunken and stored via a complicated system that could compress molecules to one one-hundredth of their size. Neural nodes attached to the figure's temples inside the helmet relayed all commands to the suit's internal cpu and Ethernet. In turn, these systems were connected to the hunter's ship's computer, which made everything much more...convenient in the long run. In a split second after thinking it, blue lines appear in the hunter's outstretched left hand. They connect in angular patterns, forming the translucent shape of what looks like a small handgun. As the molecules fill in the empty spaces, the weapon solidifies and stops glowing. It was not lethal; rather, it emitted a powerful, concentrated beam with enough electromagnetic power to halt a fleet of armored cars in its tracks. The figure took aim at Doryan below, slowly moving the barrel of the magna-gun to bear on the man's revolver. The targeting computer gained a lock...The hunter's aim would now follow the gun even if Doryan moved. The aim was that precise and the suit's servo motors that responsive. The figure pulls the trigger, sending out an invisible beam. Since the magnetic field was so concentrated, no other metal objects would be affected by it. And if the aim was true, then Doryan's gun would come flying up into the possesion of the hunter, effectively disarming the man. After all, the convict was already wounded and the hunter needed him alive for the bounty.

Still...Doryan Charrd would soon learn what it meant to feel the wrath of the Manticore...
Blizzard Exec #1: I don't have a World of Warcraft account! Do you?
Blizzard Exec #2: No...*sigh* I have a life.
Randy Marsh: Give me the sword! I have a Warcraft account. I'm a newb, but I may be able to get it to Stan in time.
Blizzard Exec #1: A newb! We can't trust the Sword of A Thousand Truths to a newb!
Randy Marsh: It sounds to me like you have no choice!
--South Park
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LadySabre
Member Avatar
Elder
Co-Admin
OOC: Dammit - Sorry about that, Davyn. I'll fix everything for ya. :)

IC:

Natalia smiled as her bullet hit home in Doryan's side. As she was pulling the trigger back once more, he bent down and began charging her. The bullet that escaped from the barrel of the gun flew over him with ease. She felt his large hands grabbing her sides as his shoulder connected with her stomach, knocking the air out of her lungs.

The world was fuzzy, but her sense of touch was still clear. She felt her back connect with the window; felt her body crash through it as if it were a piece of paper and heard a sickening crack that most definitely was not from the window.

She was falling then. Would she ever stop? Perhaps she was dead. No - she could still see Doryan on top of her. But then his arms lashed out and he grabbed onto something, stopping his fall. She continued down a bit more, finally landing with a loud thud on someone's balcony. Unable to move, she tried her best to keep breathing. It wasn't the easiest thing to do with a messed up spine and a few broken ribs, not to mention the concussion she'd most likely just received from the fall. Before everything went black, she noticed Doryan jumping down to where she was and pointing a gun at her head. She hadn't the strength to even lift her pistol.

Natalia du Linsierre, the youngest of the Mavericks, would not live to see whether Doryan decided to pull the trigger or not. Perhaps she hadn't been the best for this job. It wasn't as if she'd asked for it anyways. She'd only been doing what duty told her to do. As her last breath escaped her, she hoped that one of the other Mavericks would come to avenge her death, but deep down, she knew that if a Maverick was killed on a mission, that mission was pulled off the charts "until further notice".
Wash: I think they really captured his essence.
Kaylee: He looks kinda mean.
Wash: That's sorta what I meant.
Simon: This must be what going mad feels like.
Kaylee: Everywhere I go, his eyes keep followin' me...
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Davyn
Member Avatar
whippersnapper
Members
(( OOC: Whoa there! You don't need to go killing off your character there! Won't really solve anything and I've already adjusted my post for the neccessary measures anyway. Just keep her in for the moment or have her black out or something if you wish. ))
Blizzard Exec #1: I don't have a World of Warcraft account! Do you?
Blizzard Exec #2: No...*sigh* I have a life.
Randy Marsh: Give me the sword! I have a Warcraft account. I'm a newb, but I may be able to get it to Stan in time.
Blizzard Exec #1: A newb! We can't trust the Sword of A Thousand Truths to a newb!
Randy Marsh: It sounds to me like you have no choice!
--South Park
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queen_gwenefiere
Unregistered

OOCLY: ALright, I have a couple of things to say regarding this thread. FIrst of all I don't think it was very nice to say Sabre ruined everything. :) We all have a love of rp here and it is free rp so you can jump in where ever you like, unless said otherwise. I'm not being a jerk, But I think everyone deserves a chance, and thank you Davyn for Agreeing with me that Sabre shouldn't kill her character. But Leave her dead for now, I'm going to use my characters special magick in my next post.. :D I think we should make profiles and post em in The correct spot. ALso, Earth, that I am speaking of is in the process of being made into a forum as well. It would be somewhat like the 1970's though. Oxygen production facilities ARE there, but that is because of necessity. Technology is more green energy, rather than convenience or entertainment. There are vehicles, and food producers and air producers. Medical technology is also advanced, but not a great deel. I will post some background In a couple of days. I am just trying to be diplomatic, and save from any hastle that may occure. LEts all be nice and play fair. Thanks guys!!! I'm enjoying the thread and I've gotten alot of compliments about our thread. The writing is great and the Ideas are even better.
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