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| Invasion? | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 18 2015, 09:41 PM (104 Views) | |
| NPC | Feb 18 2015, 09:41 PM Post #1 |
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Citizen
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Another portal rips open over the gardens, the boom shattering most of the glass in the area. Just like the others, wichers pour out and begin killing anyone in sight, storming into the mansion. Their behemoth leader leaping from the portal to the top of the mansion to plant his standard in the roof. He pounds on his chest, spewing fire into the air as his minions go forth. |
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| NPC | Feb 19 2015, 12:46 PM Post #2 |
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Citizen
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The mansion was quickly overrun with no staff to speak of. Wichers tear through it searching for what secrets they may be able to present to their master. It is only a matter of time before they make their way to the Eloc weapons room. |
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| Yuki | Feb 19 2015, 09:52 PM Post #3 |
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Newcomer
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White light. The whole world washed away into light around him. In a single frame of his vision, he could see every point of his life. A bouncy girl with pink hair, the aerial view of Chicago, an island with a broken archway and single tower. Every scene of tragedy oscillated against her shining face. A pair of circular, wire-framed glasses pushed up on an aging nose; the lines in the mans face only highlighted how little he smiled. Yuki remembered his reflection in those glasses, how every time he saw it staring back him, how much less hopeful his face looked. He watched his own face jade with each bitter glance. This too, fell into the pattern. Hatred. Sorrow. Hope. Like the tempering effects of extremes on metal, he felt his throat harden. And then the white faded. To nothing. “Who was that girl?” he thought, his words echoing around the emptiness. He couldn't tell if he was actually hearing them, or if his thoughts just reverberated around his head. The lines between the emptiness and the memories blurred with every press of his thoughts. The more he tried to remember, the more her name slipped away from his tongue, like trying desperately to hold water in his cupped hands. He couldn't remember her. Or that island. What was the name of that city? Or that man with the glasses? “Why did I look so sad?” Was that his life? Was it always soo... bleak? Was that girl the only splash of color? In time, even the emptiness around him began to fade. And to his dismay, it didn't give way to his memories. Instead, a dimly let room. Some crystal-like substance glowed with no discernible source of current for the illumination. Along each wall, his eyes jumped from crate to crate, rack to rack, each barring some kind of notice in a language he couldn't read. Some of the weapons on display felt familiar to him, as he reached out, towards a hand-sized firearm. His skin nearly touched the metal before he saw a contorted face flash before his vision, a bloody hole just above the nose. He could still see the fear in her dilated pupils as the image faded and he drew back his hand. Covering his mouth, for a second, he could’ve sworn he smelled blood. “What is this place?” he mused aloud, certain this time that his ears could hear his own voice. That was the first moment since existence swallowed him again, that Yuki became self-aware. Looking down at foreign hands, and a ragged shirt. The white button-down could be described as little more than strips of synthetics and cotton at this point, with denim trousers covered in ash and sand and glittered in glass dust. But he couldn't see his right hand. Reaching for his face, he felt something rugged, leather maybe? Pulling at it, he understood that it was latched around his head, and with tug upwards, a mass of white hair fell around to frame his vision. In his grip, a black eye-patch. A searing pain shot through his head, and and he slammed shut his left eye. The room, it seemed clearer. He stared for a moment, and then numbers began to appear. Dimensions of each object. Expected mass values. Standard deviations of each estimate fluctuated as the data refined every couple of frames. Breath increasing, he raised his hand in freight only to see more lines appear, tracing from his own hand to various places in the room. The lines moved as his hand adjusted, and in a jerk reaction, he flung the headgear across the room. It hadn't left his hand a fraction of a second, before all of the lines left, save one: the projectiles trajectory. A counter even appeared near the crate it would hit, clicking down in milliseconds to impact. It bounced off harmlessly, and Yuki stared in wonder. He wished the lines would go away and—at that—they did. Still shaken, he walked over to the flung accessory and retrieved, wondering if replacing the patch could calm the inexplicable uneasiness in his stomach. In seconds, his hypothesis proved correct. His relief, however, lasted for less than a minute. As his left eye hopped about, looking for patterns in the symbols labeling each container, the crystals illuminated the room dipped from their cold white, glow to a soft crimson. The pitch that flooded his ears meant some kind of emergency. Even without his memories, that much seemed obvious still. It was instinct. From here, reactions were something he'd have to rely on. Maybe he was the emergency. Were guards coming for him? Was this that place? That lab with the tubes? He remembered the faces floating in the fluid, but couldn't put meaning to any of them. Running towards the only exit he could locate, he grabbed one of the pistols and a couple of clips. A single string of characters ran through his conscious: “M1911A1.” It felt familiar and cold. Empty. Pressing against the door, it didn't give. To his left, a patch panel of some kind, each symbol on it gibberish. “Come on, open!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the exit. Steel creaked under his fist. “Is that... possible?” He punched, as hard as he could this time, and then removed his hand from the indent. With a grin, he reared back and twirled one combat-boot into the door, knocking the sliding metal plate clear the the wall. He looked down at the blood dripping from his freshly cracked knuckles and the skin stretched across to reform before his eyes. Fear and this feeling of invincibility surged through his mind. As the shadows came around the corner at him, he felt in that moment unstoppable. Instinctively, he pulled the eye-patch down around his neck and line drew out of the barrel of the gun. Click. The hammer pulled back, and then a sunder rocketed out. For now, his memories were just that, memories. The moment was all that mattered. Edited by Yuki, Feb 19 2015, 10:02 PM.
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| NPC | Feb 20 2015, 01:20 AM Post #4 |
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Citizen
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The Wichers had immediately noticed the door come flying open. It was one of the auxiliary weapons rooms housing technology recovered from Lord Elocs time spent in the human world. The creatures let out loud shrill screams, quickly alerting the others to the presence of this new threat. They waste no time, these creatures are on a mission unlike the others. They are not decoy soldiers, these are elite crafted Wichers, capable of making their own plans, their own tactics on the fly, and they mean to accomplish their goal. They charge forward, several sinking into the grooves in the floor, wisping past their target, filling the room behind him while the others form into a single ball of darkness hurdling forward at Yuki. It finally culminates just before him in one solid mass, slamming him back into the room where the other creatures now stand around him. The ball of shadow then dissipates, covering the doorway in a solid protective layer, sealing him in with roughly eleven creatures. They begin to cackle like hyenas as they approach their target cautiously, ready for retaliation. |
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| Yuki | Feb 26 2015, 06:57 PM Post #5 |
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Newcomer
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Pulse. They'd gotten behind him. Those creatures, things like darkness made flesh, they slammed into him like a wave and his meager progress towards an exit had been reversed. Like any headway into his memory, those flashbacks, the faces: one step forward, two steps back. His mind felt like quicksand, any struggle to grasp those fading blobs of color only made them dissolve faster, washed out in an abysmal light. Maybe that's the light that cast these shadows, the idea of this being his purgatory just now crossing his mind. Was that the white flash? Pulse. Now wasn't the time to ponder, however. Mulling about the tidings of fate and his circumstance in this bizarre setting would have to wait their turn as the stack of his conscious took a new order to the top. Inserted above philosophy, the command to survive superseded, calling a combat subroutine. Both irises widened, the synthetic one trailing the left by less than a millisecond. His index finger tensed, sliding from the the trigger guard into the ready position. Pulse. He didn't need to raise it high enough to line up the sights. As soon as the front came into his field of vision, his eye set into motion the lines. Muscle memory kicked in, the pattern to his shot. The thought of the first round to center of mass crossed his mind, and then the second trajectory lines based on the recoil estimates kicked in. He thought of lifting his arms, and then the display traced the third shot between the creature's eyes—or at least where they would be on a human, as Yuki couldn't discern any actual eyes on it. Pulse. As soon as the rush of blood passed through his extremities, and the bell curve of pressure in his veins began its decline, two shots rang out, splattering through center mass of the nearest target. Pulse. Recoil provided the initial acceleration, and his arms carried it up. Squeeze. Pulse. Whipping around as fast as his arms could while the pressure was high, he line up the next objective. Pulse. Two more rounds. Pulse. Headshot. Pulse. The empty magazine hit the floor, his off hand already grabbing the spare from his belt. Pulse. Loaded. Pulse. A pair of shots into center mass. Pulse. Head. Pulse. Fourth target. Pulse. His final triplet burst came to a close with one round left. Pulse. Seven targets remaining, he rushed the left most, putting as many of them as he could into his artificial field of vision. First step forward, and the gun pointed off towards the furthest right. A round that would've been luck for anyone without his hardware downed his fifth kill. Pulse. Spinning round-house. Pulse. Pistol-whip. Pulse. Execute. The creature's neck made an audible crack as if had discernible anatomy, a whisper compared to the lingering ring of gun fire. Pulse. The gun flew from his hand, taking out one at the ankle, toppling it to be dealt with later. Pulse. An open palm took the next at the wrist, contorting it by the arm until its head dipped to a perfect angle for Yuki's fist to shatter the skull. The impact wracked the room with a metallic crunch as the vibrations traveled through his metal forearm. Pulse. His arms began to tingle with a familiar warmth. Odd—existential even—he could feel power flexing beyond his body, awakening and anxious. With only four targets left, his aura guided his hand forward, like an extra-planer muscle memory. Pulse. As soon as his fingertips touched its chest, laid in a semicircle around the sternum, a light errupted through the creatures, like an azure muzzle flash. The enemy fell, the floor visible through its torso. Pulse. A hand gripped the head of the next attacker. Pulse. Blue light erupted. Pulse. Sweep kick. Pulse. He pressed his palm into its back and let reflex repeat the motion. Pulse. Only one remained, still standing back from blow to the ankle when Yuki threw his gun. No sooner had it finally regained balance than did Yuki's attack find the underside of its chin, toppling the headless form. Pulse. He looked back at the door, flicking his wrist like it would make his motions feel less rigid, less mechanical. He waited again, this time ready for the wave of darkness that threatened to overtake him, energy flaring in front of both of his hands. This time, he'd be ready for it. |
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