Kyle knew that diplomacy wasn't getting him anywhere, but action was going to be very risky. He came up with a quick plan. First, he makes sure crazy is looking at him while fat fuck looks at the door, then he charges into Lawry, get him in the crotch or the solar plexus and steal his gun, after that he fires a shot at the rat and then Joe if possible and then... eh, that's enough of a plan right now. It's a good thing the tubster has a machine pistol so there's less likelihood of him hitting...
You have a knife, since screw going into the Low Fields unarmed, and these are five guys with guns. The odds this works are minimal. But it's better than having to stand there like a moron and watch your dad get executed by these rat fucks. You have to try.
So there you are, standing as Stevie gets progressively more tense. You give him one last look as Tubby looks away and Crazy Joe is paying full attention to you. Then you charge forward, pushing Stevie aside - the spindly druggie is pushed off-balance, and you see Crazy Joe start to raise his rifle. Your sister, almost as quick as you, pushes forward with her hands still tied, trying to bowl him over. Your father, his instincts keen, starts to move to the side, and your mother hits the deck.
You manage to clear half the distance to Lawry before his brain manages to communicate to him that you're going his way - reflexively, he pulls the trigger, perhaps realizing what you're about to do - the shot takes a good chunk out of your dad's side, a prelude to the one-sided firefight about to ensue. You don't stop, knowing that if you let him load the next shot you're probably dead, and you ram your elbow into his solar plexus, sending the enormous guy backward. And you're about to move forward to relieve him of his shotgun when Stevie, one guy you didn't quite factor into your plan, takes a shot with his own .44, hitting you squarely in the back. You stumble and nearly fall from the shock, which gives Crazy Joe, only mildly inconvenienced by your sister's efforts, the opening he needs to put a round in your chest. Tubby has raised his gun, you see as you start to turn in wounded confusion, realization of your impending death setting in just as an unintentionally well-aimed shot from Otis pierces through the side of your neck, leaving a considerable hole. You think you hear screaming beneath the deafening shots, your family probably. Maybe Crazy Joe.
Your mind slips out of the realm of conventional experience as your life flashes before your eyes, all leading up to this moment. There were infinite other possibilities, things you could have done differently. Ways you could have saved your family and yourself. Sadly impossible for you to enact now. But just then, as your mind starts to slip and a burst from Tubby's direction flies your way, about to put an end to you once and for all, your thoughts expand, and visions of strange and distant corners of probability swim before you, realms beyond the experience of any one man opening up to your escaping cognition. And then, in a moment of blinding inspiration, the truth becomes apparent. You cannot change your fate, or the fate of others. But a loophole reveals itself readily.
As the small-caliber bullets perforate you, practically erasing your chances of survival, you start to fall to the ground, drained by your wounds and gushing blood, probably hardly recognizable at this point. Your mind is elsewhere, looking for an out. And before you hit the concrete floor, you find one. A very adequate one. You perform the switch, desperate to survive.
Suddenly, you are not wounded. You feel awake. Better than awake, military-grade amphetamines coursing through your veins. You hit the ground heavily, and instinctively your body knows to roll, servomotors in your armor effecting your movement to the point where you are up in less than half a second. Your knife is gone, but you seem to have a set of wristblades which extend in response to you even thinking about them. The situation feels greatly different. Another thought switches the vision mode on your helmet to 360 degrees, something much more readily comprehensible than you would expect. Tubby is still firing, mostly missing you, the bullets glancing your armor, utterly failing to penetrate. He is the first one you obviate, plucking him from existence and replacing him with a more favorable Tubby, one with a football jersey and a beer in his hand, which he inconsiderately drops in surprise. Stevie fires again, and the bullet buries itself in between your chest and shoulder plates, hitting flesh and triggering the release of some much-needed chemical numbing. You glance at Stevie in vicious tranquility and replace him with a much more palatable Steve who works as a waiter, watching the confused mind of the man try and adapt to the new body.
You look at Crazy Joe, who's just ineffectually shot you in the back. Noticing that you don't appear to care, he quickly throws your sister to the floor and pokes the bayonet and barrel into the back of her head. You switch him with a sedated version residing in Arkwood just a few realities to the... you're not sure which direction, or whether it even matters, and now that he's disarmed and confused spare him no second thought as you turn to Otis, who seems about to surrender. You cautiously switch him with an Otis working data entry just in time for a final shotgun blast from Lawry to miss you entirely. You don't even bother to look his way as you exchange his body and personal effects with those of a Lawry who got third-degree burns over 67% of his body just last week in an unfortunate barbecue accident and is currently in the middle of receiving a skin graft. He doesn't look too good after the swap, you think.
Contemplating your fancy new wristblades, you ponder what to do with the newly disarmed and conveniently swapped Churchboys. There are certain tempting options, you would think. And that might not be just the high combat drug content in your blood talking.
Lacie felt a mix of confusion and elation fill her as the pain fell away to nothingness, she had no idea what had just happened but knew it had just saved her life. She almost laughed in relief but did not attempt to move as the security came to investigate, having no idea what would break the effect that how somehow happened. She listened as the footsteps came closer and watched the people enter, it was only after they had moved on that she tried to edge forwards through the tiled floor until she exited the room.
You slink invisibly along the floor, being one with the stone as the security guards - the average beefy, cruel lot you know all too well from your general pattern of activity. It takes them a while to do whatever it is they're doing - you can't really hear what they're saying, just feel the vibrations of their footsteps. You think they're calling in the sudden appearance of blood and the breaking of a table in the room. It takes them a while to start looking for you elsewhere, at which point you go for the exit - in the opposite direction, obviously. Quickly and noiselessly you move to the threshold of the room, and then try to cross over into the next one, which you think is a living room with some sort of laminate floor.
As you press yourself against the edge, though, you only manage to emerge from the floor, then stumble over the threshold in surprise, landing on the ground with all the grace and stealth of a plummeting gargoyle as you create a visible crack on the tiles. It is now that you note something rather unusual. As you examine yourself, you notice that seemingly every part of you has taken on the texture of stone, from your flesh to your clothes to the shards of glass once embedded in it. Other than that, nothing appears to have changed - you can still see the bone sticking out of your leg, though it doesn't bleed or hurt, and you still appear to be able to move as usual.
Unfortunately, you seem to have made quite a bit of noise now. You hear quite a lot of footsteps coming your way.
Vel just lays there for a while, breathing in and out. Going through a check list. Tensing and relaxing each muscle to make sure nothing is damaged. Then to figure out if any spot is severely hurting. Falling from a chair is normally damaging.
You sure feel damaged. You can barely even move, which you'd suppose is well in line with having threefold muscle cramps all over your body. You're not bleeding or anything, though. And you are pleased to note that no part of you hurts more than any other part, which would point to you being fine overall, if physiologically exhausted. Strenuous activity probably wouldn't be recommended. You think you could maybe crawl into bed (although attempting to crawl back into the office chair and having some quality computer time sounds like a pretty good idea as well).
It is rather relaxing, though, lying on the cold floor like this. Gives you time to think. Probably not good for you, though. As your mother would likely say, you're going to get a cold if you keep lying around like this. And with your state of health that'd be very bad indeed. Well, unless you're suddenly invincible. The way you're having trouble making any voluntary movements now would point to this not being the case, however.
The pain... It was gone. For the first time in what felt like years, but she knew had only been months, the pain was gone. When Rachel tried to move, however, she was reminded forcefully of the restraints. "Dad? Dad, are you there? Can you hear me?"
The restraints, oddly, do not feel very forceful. As you move your arms, they slide along the inside, almost flowing. And as you free your hand with the greatest of ease, you are slightly alarmed as you feel your forearm bend right in the middle as if it were completely boneless.
Understandably alarmed, you call out for your father, but there is no response, though you do hear vague noises coming from somewhere. Just the hint of a human voice behind them, but no more than that.
Alex was pretty sure he got ripped off. He shrugged and attempted to jump it anyway.
You jump, latching on to the gate of your estate and climbing right over, then take off at a sprint toward the Wall, raising your arms like a champ and keeping your chin held high. Occasionally you break into laughter - you're not quite sure why. Your sprint slowly starts to turn into a jog as you, quite out of breath, elect to appreciate the scenery. The Bluffs at night seem like a magical place, you think. Magical indeed! Reveling in the sounds of the night, you notice someone's having a party at one of the estates closer to the Wall. This is where the new money lives, you think. They're always fun. You run over to the gate and press the call button on a whim several times. The sound deeply fascinates you for some reason. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Heh.
"Yes? Who's there? It's real late, you know!" goes a drunken man on the other end. You feel the urge to have some of what he's having.
"Is he here to
party?" asks a slightly more distant, much drunker woman on the other end. You nod intensely for a few moments before realizing they can't hear you. You then say "YES" several times while wildly pressing the buzzing button. You start to laugh midway through and can't stop. They're laughing, too, which makes you laugh even more. You can barely stand after a few moments.
They don't let you in, though, despite all the fun you're having. You wipe a tear from your eye as you ponder what to do next. You were going somewhere, you think you recall.
Yvonne started tearing up, and knew her only chance was to get out of the shower. She grabbed the brush, hit the man over the head with it, and tried to crawl away.
You grab the brush, hoping it will at least cause a bleeding wound before you are mercilessly gunned down. You lower yourself to the ground, steadying yourself as tears form in your eyes. The ground wobbles under you, and it takes all your determination to move to poke your head underneath the shower curtain.
But you are too slow. The hand turns, and the shower comes alive, screaming into your head. You start to scream as it breathes fear and flame down upon you, engulfing you in an ocean of hellish terror, an unending torrent of suffering that refuses to end. Your mind fills with bright red, the rush of blood the only thing you can hear for a moment. And then a single, powerful gunshot, drowning out all else, inverting all forms of thought and meaning, catapulting you out of the mortal world, into a realm of infinite possibility, where all things can be true, but nothing can be known for certain.
Here you linger, tasting the winds of knowledge, your mind frayed and tested to its very limit, now to receive its true reward. For a brief instant, you look upon the face of the world serpent, and it looks upon you, assessing your worth. You once were lost. With its token you shall be found again. Your thoughts collect for one instant of pure clarity, and then you plummet back, plunged into the blood-red depths once more. You shriek with all of your might and, your purpose renewed, launch yourself forward - the curtain of the chemical shower wraps around you, coming off the curtain rail as your full weight bears down on it, and you roll in absolute senselessness until you come to a stop against a wall. It takes you a moment before you regain the ability to feel color through your skin, and the multicolored pulses of sound in the air come right after.
You open your eyes, still in darkness. Unsteadily you get to your feet, still tasting the science lab all around you from memory. You think you are within it still, clutching the brush from before. You do not sense the white pulses of gunfire close by - they echo through the halls still, but they do not originate from here. You do not smell an intruder, either. For a moment you stand there, no clue on what to do. But then your unseeing eyes are drawn to a point. It is your brush, the image felt by your hand forming before your eyes. You run your other hand over it, and the shape of the steel wool head forms as well. It feels sharpish, abrasive. And next to it is another image, more interesting still. A sharper brush, much sharper, resonating with the idea of death.
You think on the image. The resonance is the key. Your hands frantically search around, and you locate your phone. You think... you think the phone has the things you need. The science lab has the rest. It would be a quick job. Very quick. Quick enough to anticipate the spirit of death. Quick enough for you to show him sharpness beyond mortal reckoning. You unwrap your head from the thick curtain, letting the light hit your head so you can integrate color. Yes. It is all too clear now. What you need was before you all along.
Throwing a mournful look at the donuts and coffee he didn't get a chance to partake of Steven stands up and follows Kim to Bubbles bedroom.
once there he politely waits outside until either Bubbles or Kim calls him inside.
You follow along with Kim along the length of a nearby hallway. She walks quietly, and you do your best to do the same. At the end is a door, currently slightly ajar. Judging from the sounds getting progressively easier to discern, you'd say that who you're looking for is in there. Though as your footsteps draw closer, you notice that what you suspect is going in there quiets down momentarily. In a moment, Kim opens the door and steps into what is clearly a bedroom confidently, at which point you hear the rustling of sheets intensify and a surprised yelp from the woman. Kim stares at the bed for a moment, then looks at you.
"Come in, please," she asks with considerable tranquility, and you oblige, stepping carefully inside.
The bedroom, oddly enough, has only one other person in it, a large, swarthy, rather hairy middle-aged individual who manages to look unusually formidable and lethal despite being naked and barely covering himself with a bedsheet. Next to him lies a large cyan sphere of some kind. The man regards Kim dully, then glances at you. Kim looks your way as well.
"That's Steven," she mentions after a moment's silence. The man nods. "I'm checking up on you, in case it wasn't clear," she adds, and the man nods again, glancing at the sphere. "How's progress?" The man shrugs with disinterest, which causes Kim to pull out a strange-looking pistol from her purse. The man follows with his eyes as she points it at the sphere, then shoots.
The gunshot is odd, resembling more a very loud slam of a door than a proper explosion of gunpowder. The man is startled less than you are, oddly enough, taking a moment to sadly regard the hole in the sphere. He pokes it with his finger a moment, watching as a few pieces collapse inward.
"You didn't have to do that," he says after a moment, his voice completely deadpan. "That thing cost me a bundle."
"Give me a status report," Kim asks politely, putting the gun away.
"Who's that?" the man asks, looking in your direction.
"I told you, that's Steven. Now, status report," Kim replies.
"I mean, I don't really need to be introduced to everyone, but still, some respect would be-" the man goes on, but Kim cuts him off by pulling out the gun again and shooting him in the knee, the loud door slam ringing out again.
"That rather hurts," the man mentions, failing to react otherwise. "Hm. You say you wanted a status report?"
"Don't try to piss me off, Z. It won't work," Kim replies with forceful evenness.
"Right," says Z, bending down to root around beneath the bed for a bit, retrieving a small black case. "I guess this'll work," he says, opening it up quickly and producing a syringe. "I think it's adequate," he says, carefully placing the needle into the gunshot wound without even flinching, then injecting the contents. A few moments pass as Z tilts his head, gazing at his knee. "Not as good as the exclusive batches. But give it a moment."
Slowly you notice the knee begin to knit together, the bullet pushing its way out and falling to the ground, the wound covering itself in the matter of a minute or so.
"Our healthcare's undergoing some revision," Kim explains to you as you observe. "Just one of the benefits, free healthcare."
"You still haven't told me who that guy is," Z mentions as he examines you placidly. You hear something break in the far distance.
Serra Navarro:It is the evening of the third day since your brothers were kidnapped, and you are the only one left searching, hoping that you will find them somewhere and then... save them somehow. It is hard to elaborate on a plan with a first step so deeply flawed. You have not been thinking straight. It is healthier not to, as the reality is that, as humble as the ransom demand was, a mere ten thousand dollars, you couldn't pay it. Couldn't shell that out for the safety of your little brothers. Not even the eight that would have been left once your aunt Meche sold her car and TV. And now they are almost certain to die unless a miracle happens.
It is nearly midnight. Maybe later than that. No miracles yet, you think bitterly as you wander along the edge of the Low Fields, surveying the nearly empty buildings. It's not safe to wander here, especially not at this time of night. You've seen odd men occasionally look at you from broken windows, and in the very far distance you hear unearthly howls of wandering machinery - the Hesperides on patrol. You wander on slowly on the edge of complete exhaustion and mindless desperation, and almost miss a certain quaint suburban residence, on the porch of which sits a familiar individual.
It is someone you do not recognize at first. A skinny, leathery woman in her early forties maligned by eczema, greasy-haired and poorly dressed as well as lightly bruised in several places, it is the sort of woman you would describe charitably as a druggie. In this she looks little different from how you remember her - it is your aunt Meche. The woman who called you, talked about the bad people who'd taken your brothers. She seems as haunted as you, truthfully, smoking nervously with eyes wide, breathing deeply in between puffs. You stop mid-stride as recognition sets in, and she looks at you as well, narrowing her eyes. You don't think she recognizes you, as her eyes seem filled with an almost animalistic fear and hatred. You wonder what she's doing out here. Is this where she lives? Or is she too searching as you are?
Name:Sean Thomas
Age: 27
Description: (pre-reaction) Boringly bland office drone. Brown hair, 5'11", sort of pasty.
Occupation: Works as a coder for Walmart, on their inventory system. He is BORING.
Power Origin:Exposed to someone else's mutagen when they dropped it off a roof and right into his sandwich.
Setup: So, Sean is walking down the street, eating a burrito. Then a blue glowy pill falls in his mouth when he opens it, near-instantaneously dissolving. Someone far above him screams in frustration and rage. Sean panics. He never wanted powers. Well he did once, but...No. What happens next is probably not going to end well.
Identifier (for bought and experimental powers):Brain Power
This is temptingly daft, but unfortunately doesn't quite work. You can't get the canister-based powers by accident, pretty much. Triggers, yes. Canisters, no. The options are powerless, triggered, bought, experimental for a reason. Either somebody deliberately fed you the thing that gives you powers (it's not a mutagen, actually), or you bought it yourself. If you want to non-deliberately obtain powers, triggers or especially unethical experiments are what you usually need to have. Harrowing experiences, you know. Preferably highly specific ones.
Author
Topic: Come On Down To Edwardstown: A Worm-Inspired RP (9/9) (Read 17034 times)