The War on Peace [Open Event]

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by LunaHawk » Thu Feb 07, 2019 4:38 pm

“I wish that man would just leave things well enough alone.” Aberdee’s mother said. Aberdee was parked at the kitchen table drawing in her notebook.

“Everything was fine until they started agitating. If they’d just leave things be they would change for the better in time.” Her mother’s friend said.

“He’s going to get someone hurt.” Another of her friends said.

They were all seated in the living room watching the black and white TV while a man on the screen gave a speech in front of a memorial. He was talking about the color of skin. She put her crayon down. Sometimes adults could be so silly. “An object at rest tends to stay at rest.” She explained, walking into the living room.

“What dear?” One of her mother’s big haired friends asked.

“Nothing changes without cause.” Aberdee tried. “He agitates because if he doesn’t no one will make anything better anywhere. He’s right too, because people shouldn’t be judged by their skin, it’s silly.”
The women all looked at each other.

“Aberdee dear, these are complex issues; you should go back to your coloring. You’ll understand one day, when you’re older and can appreciate the complexities. Not everyone is born the same.”

Aberdee’s eyes narrowed. “I like to help people. I wish you did too. One day I’m going to help people and no one like you is going to tell me not to because I don’t understand.”

“I wouldn’t expect a half…”

“Caroline if you finish that sentence I will throw you out of this house so fast you’ll forget what day it is.” Aberdee’s mother said. “Don’t you dare talk to my daughter that way.”

Aberdee hopped out of the empty train car. It was a good thing when trains ran on time. People were hustling around and seemed busy by something but she didn’t know what it was, at least not at first. She looked up at one of the TVs at the station and it politely replayed the news of the day. She frowned. Someone was out there doing something bad because they thought they were better than other people. She hated that.

Aberdee strode from the train station, glad she had been wearing her combat clothing the whole time and carrying her battle staff. It would be silly to go into combat with her notebook. She did wish Captain Eightlegs could come along this time but he had a very important conference to attend. She understood, they’d link up again in a few days.

Now it was time for Aberdee Astra, hero of the rails! First…she’d have to find something bad happening and do something about it. Usually one thing would lead to another thing and off you’d go, finding the bad guy and saving the day. At least, that’s how the comics worked.

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Alpha » Thu Feb 07, 2019 5:36 pm


Instantly, the entire world fell away. Black rage consumed the Apha's mind, for a split second. Without thinking, she'd drawn her blade, the monomolecular edge making a whistling sound as it she slid it out of the sheath. Then, her burning fury was replaced with something cold.

All there was, in the moment, was herself and Delta. Distractions like emotion were put on hold, the entirety of Lucia's mind redirected towards one task. There was nothing human in how she moved. No poise, no grace. Neither was it raw animal instinct. Impetuous young wolves relied purely on their ancestral memory. But it was the old, experienced hunters who prevailed.

The driving bass line of some far-off song roared in the Apex Predator's ears, as she charged. Her movements were calculated to the last twitch, every bullet in Delta's magazine a miss before it was fired. It took under a second for her to close the distance. Her body kept in a state of physical perfection, and her mind operating nine times faster than any human, she would seem closer to a violent demigod than a human.

Damoclese lashed outwards, a sharp wind of steel, requiring altered cognition to properly track. The intent was to cut Richmond's arm- not off, but rather down the middle, splitting it into two horizontal halves, the palm split between middle and ring fingers.

Back-flipping away from Delta, the Alpha's foot extended mid-air to hit him in the solar plexus. Upon landing, she darted forwards to use her free hand to poke him in the eyes, fingers penetrating his glasses easily. The, in a deft movement, a needle was drawn from her belt, intended for the neck. It contained a sample of the second pathogen. Rapid-onset altered hemorrhagic fever. Whatever sickness Delta was already carrying, it would surely pale in comparison to the cruel ministrations of their weapon.

"That," Lucia spat, "was for Evette."

There was still one other to take revenge upon Delta for. But if he wasn't dead already, he'd have a chance for one counterattack. Give him a touch of hope, before his death.

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Containment » Thu Feb 07, 2019 5:51 pm

Asset: I'm [EXPLETIVE] retired [Ethan "The Benefactor" Vail VI; true identity expunged]
Time: Too old for this [shortly after news broadcast/beginning of event]
Location: Opulence - and I thought I'd be able to rest a while
Purpose: what part of retired don't you get
The TV was on.

Normally, he watched world news. Rome had been a big event, and some familiar faces had been there. Morro Bay had been interesting. The MAVU incident in DC had managed to hold his attention for a while. Now, though, the current, local events were what were playing. Between a repeat of Alpha's message and the rest of the country's reactions, there was plenty to watch while he was here.

"Ethan" had become a bit of an eccentric recluse after his retirement. Even more so than his neighbors here in Opulence. Younger, he would probably have been bored out of his mind here. But he was coming up on seventy now. Even if it weren't for his mistake last April, his ideas for retirement had been rolling around in his head for a while.

There had never been a permanent location in Detroit. Too many variables. No real way to secure it without brute force, and that was out of the question if they still wanted to keep their heads down. Which they did. Heather'd told him that. But the lack of a presence here was something that appealed to Ethan, and, to an extent, the dangers of the city just outside Opulence's gates. Of course, he was rich, so the city proper wasn't an option. But if you want to keep your head down when you're rich, your best bet is to mingle - or not - with other rich people. And days like this reminded him why he'd moved to Detroit, despite the objections he typed up in the head of his pseudo-file. Days like this made him miss the life he'd retired from.

Speaking of that life. His phone went off. He picked it up - his former secretary had made sure to keep him in the loop, and his successor made pretty regular check-ins. This probably was one of those "are you really sure you're okay with living in Detroit?" messages.

Sure enough, the name that came up was "Half".

> Just saw the news. Do you need extraction?

> No.

> Are you sure? We could do it. We've done harder.

> I know. But no. Leave me be. I'll be getting the last few papers in order for you. Do not send extraction.

Ethan ignored the rest of Half's texts, which were probably all in the same vein as the earlier one and so the only way to convince her was to let her know he'd put his foot down. He turned the chessboard around, from white to black. This was generally how he passed the time, when he wasn't writing pseudo-reports or theorizing what would happen if he permanently retired. Or, more accurately, if someone permanently retired him. This situation felt like that. Felt good for that kind of retirement. Not at his own hands, of course. No. He was just an asset at this point. His eyes flickered back from the black chesspieces to the television screen, but there was no hate, no bitterness. Just picking up on the latest news. The events. The mob. The riots that were coming. They'd reach Opulence soon enough, and when they did most people here were going to burn. And if they didn't come, well then, everyone would be dead of a supervirus.

A pause. The house was... silent. Absolutely silent. His paranoia was hard-gained, but now it was paying off. Oh, he felt it, of course. The command. Kill, riot, loot. Same as anyone else in the city. Murderous tendencies. The thing about that was, he had no desire to leave this place, and he was alone in the house. All alone except for...

The sound of a door banging open. The door to his office. The old man looked up, eyeing each of the five men in front of him with a small but deadly smile as his hand gripped the pistol on his lap. Six bullets. Five men, hand-picked and loyal bodyguards, corrupted by whatever influence - infohazard, meme, it really didn't matter what she had used. All he knew was that his paranoia was paying off enough to recognize it, and while he was well aware he couldn't counter it, neither could these guys. Baseline humans.

Anomalies were hard to terminate. Baselines? Not even half as much.

Of course, he had to be efficient about it. Wouldn't do to having one of them play dead and then assail him when they thought he wasn't looking. He checked the bodies, one by one, specifically for a pulse, before turning each onto their backs. Habitual, from working at a high-risk location, where people died regularly. Not one moved. That, he reasoned, was good. It meant he wouldn't have to get creative with his last bullet. Good, for the sake of anyone who might have survived a bullet to the skull.

Returning to his desk, Ethan made his next move, putting the white pieces into check, before turning the board back around, muting the TV, and leaning back in his seat, contemplating the pistol with its final bullet. Well, if he was going to go out, he'd need to have something set up for his successor. Those five wouldn't be the last to show up. There was still a huge chance he'd be killed, as the riots spread. Not today, not tomorrow, not next week. He was a survivor, after all. But he was old. He was ready to retire permanently. So it wouldn't hurt to write it up, his last will and testament. He'd find a way to get it out of the city. Probably just email it to her, in the closed circuit his favorite asset had set up for him. Then his last act for his Foundation would be to wipe the system, before he could sit back to watch Detroit go out in one last burst of flame.
"The Foundation doesn't have the freedom to be good or bad. We're here to do our job, and if we have to make or break a few rules to do that job then so be it." [Current SV-1, "Leviathan"]

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Blight » Thu Feb 07, 2019 8:50 pm

'Opulence' Region of Detroit, Michigan.
This is the end.
Operative(s) Engaged: Quentin Richmond [CALLSIGN: DELTA].
Good luck, Shira.
The fight was already over before it began. Within the back of Richmond's mind, he knew that all roads, all avenues, all possibilities ended in one predictable, inescapable conclusion— and he'd made peace with that conclusion long ago, when he had first learned the art of the Silent Math. Death was predictable. It was a fact of life. Letting go of mortality, a fear of dying was only natural.

The knife dug into his arm, slicing through flesh and muscle before cutting into the gap between his Radius and Ulna bones with minimal to zero resistence; Richmond simply watched, resigned as the blade cut through his arm, then his forearm, then his wrist, and then his hand. Pure agony coursed through his limb and mind, and while it was hard not to scream out in pain at the sight of his arm getting bisected, it was even harder not to retaliate. He couldn't throw a punch, allow the aggression to get the best of him, because something horrific awaited him if he did. Something that would consume him.

The kick connected, cracking the operative's sternum and sending him reeling backward; the reflexive probability he'd picked up through the study of Silent Math allowed him to barely miss the eye-poke and syringe, his neck muscles tensing a fraction of an inch as the needle swiped at skin and scraped his jugular. The jab at his sockets shattered the sunglasses but kept them on his face, shards of glass hitting off of his closed eyelids as the stumble transitioned into a fall. His back impacted upon the tiles of the roof and he rolled, using his remaining arm to push himself to his feet.


Richmond spit up blood. Fuck. One of his ribs had broken, puncturing his lung. Each breath was ragged, wheezing.

Was for Evette.

Slowly, a patchwork of tar-like tendrils began to bleed out from his bisected arm, stitching the two moieties and returning the limb to functionality; a fine, matte line of black was all that remained, his charred fingers flexing before curling into a fist. The pointed claws of his hand bit into the palm. Richmond looked through the shattered lenses of his glasses, mouth curling into a smile.

"Somebody's angry."

Delta charged forward and delivered a high kick, intending to remove the knife from Lucia's grip and render her without a weapon.

That's a lie.

He followed up the strike with a jumping roundhouse, moving to crack the side of his boot against her skull. His landing was punctuated with a roll, back scraping upon the rooftop as he assumed a crouching position and picked up the dropped pistol from the ground, directly next to him. He'd planned for this, in a way, though he wasn't even entirely sure if it would work.

His eyes flashed to the girl at the corner of the rooftop.

"Sorry, sweetheart."

There was a chorus of thunderous CRACKS as Richmond feathered the trigger. The Alpha was grooming whoever this was, intending to shape her into one of her Pack members. That made her a liability and a threat.

Whether or not Lucia would care was a differrent matter entirely.

Last edited by Blight on Mon Feb 11, 2019 3:00 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Reyn » Thu Feb 07, 2019 11:03 pm

On the streets of Detroit, a young woman flagged down a car.

Public transportation had fallen apart, of course. Buses weren't running in the midst of this disaster, nobody in their right mind would drive a taxi around like this, and she was fairly certain that attempting to call an Uber would only lead to blood. Her waving was enough to catch the attention of a driver; a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and a scowl that made her roll her eyes behind her black, mirrored sunglasses.

"The fuck you waving at!?" He spat, rolling down the window to glare at her, "Do you want me to fucking hit you with this car? Is that it?"

The young woman simply laughed.

"Let me in."


"So, what business you got over at the water plant?"

"It doesn't matter, just drive."

The driver scowled, pushing the car's speed up even further over the limit. Despite his reluctance to ferry around his new passenger, he was certainly driving with urgency. He weaved in and out of piled-up traffic, running every red light he came across as he navigated the chaotic streets towards the water plant. In all fairness, driving was all he could really do. The passenger was far from sociable, only really talking to him to order him around, dismiss his questions, and make some very uncomfortable comments to fill the silence. What a pain. What a fucking pain.

Who the hell was this bitch, anyway? She looked pretty important, with that well-tailored suit, that impeccably neat haircut, and those admittedly rather stylish sunglasses... but, at the same time, there was something subtly off about her. From the moment she stepped into his car, the vehicle had begun to smell oddly chemical, like someone had spilled paint all over the back seat. The way she spoke was strange as well; there was a very thick accent to her voice, but she would occasionally seem to hide it. It was as if she was deciding where she came from on the fly, changing her mind every other sentence. Suspicious, by all means, but who wasn't at times like this? Compared to the group that had a stranglehold on the city, a strange young woman was harmless.


He slammed on the brakes, causing the car to come to a screeching halt outside the entrance to an office building. His passenger smiled and reached over to the door, opening it calmly and stepping out into the cold. She knocked on the window a few times, gesturing for him to roll it down, which he scowled and obliged.

"Thank you, mister..."


"Ahhh~ that's a wonderful name... tell me, do you have a family, Mr Lancaster?"

"Yeah. Got a wife, got three kids, my mom lives at home as we-"

"Kill them."


The office was easy to get into. The woman didn't need an ID card; she didn't even need to glance at the security guards as she walked through. A simple 'I work here' was all it took to get her past the lobby, into the elevator, and up to the top floor. Her heels clicked against the tiled floor as she walked down the empty hallway, gently running her hand along the wall as her smile widened with every echoing step.

She came to a stop in front of an open door, leading to a room with a switchboard and a set of microphones. Perfect; it was exactly where she thought it was. The only problem was that the room was still occupied... but calling that a 'problem' would, perhaps, be a little too generous. As with any other resident of the city, the employee was easily dispatched by two simple words:

"Kill yourself."

With the room now free of life, the woman sat down at the desk. She stretched out her arms behind her, the movement coupled by the sickening crunch of her joints. Though the movement was slow and barely noticeable, her arms were growing outwards, the muscle stretching itself over the lengthening bones and turning the skin unnaturally pale. Her legs, torso, and digits went through the same grisly process, with any girth they held being converted into unnatural length. The once-feminine figure that she held had been all but replaced by the body of a tall, sickly, repulsive young man. Her hair turned brown and unruly, her face became tired and fatigued, and her eyes, behind those sunglasses, turned a vivid shade of purple.

Jean smiled.

He had a lot of work to do.


"Helloooooooo, workers~!"

A voice came through the intercom; male, Scottish, and clearly insane.

"All of you stop what you're doing right now and listen to what I have to say, alriiiiiiiight~? Any work you lot had to do has been officially cancelled! You don't need to monitor the water supply anymore, nor do you need to fire up those filtration devices again because gueeeeeess what~? The entire fucking city's been compromised! Isn't that fantastic?"

The voice let out a cackle, which overpowered even the loudness of the machines in the filtration plant. It would seem fairly obvious as to what was about to happen with the people in the office... although, chances are, their fate was far kinder than the ones who had been told to skip work that day.

"Ahhh~ but it seems like such a waste of flesh, even though you're all so... average. We'll have to have some fun before I give the final command, won't we? Hmmm~?"

The word fun meant many different things to many different people, but the way the voice had said it, with that awful, perverse emphasis made it clear that his definition was far from pleasant.

"Now... where shall we begin?"


The inside of the building was in a hellish state. The offices were trashed, the white walls were stained with blood, the desks were slowly being eaten away by harsh chemicals... it looked like a thousand gruesome murders had taken place all at the same time, but that wasn't quite what happened. None of the employees were dead yet, though they weren't exactly healthy either. Broken limbs, torn skin, acid eating away at their organs, all horrific fates, but none quite fatal enough.

By this time, everyone in the office had grown to hate that voice. The way he singled people out based on some cruel desire of his, the way he took pleasure in telling them all to commit unspeakable, disgusting acts that not even God could forgive, the way he laughed, the way he taunted, the way his ungodly moans could be heard faintly through the speakers as he watched the violent debauchery corrupt each victim... his final command would come as more of a blessing than a curse.

"Go to the roof, and make sure everyone is with you. When you're all up there, I want you to wait for thirty seconds..."

He laughed.

"...and then jump onto the streets below."


Jean leaned back in the chair, grinning uncontrollably as he watched every single employee drag their defiled bodies up to the roof. Within minutes there was a line of people standing at the edges, looking down at the fatal fall they were doomed to make with horrified disbelief. Thirty seconds remained, and Jean was counting.

Such a scene was likely to attract attention, and he knew that well. What Jean also knew was that the type of people attracted to such a thing would likely be those who didn't particularly approve of forced self-injury. Though Jean's exact location would only be obvious to those who were actively tracking him, a hostage was needed for leverage. Someone who no-one would dream of killing, who could sit in the corner and look frightened whilst he threatened any visitors with further commands of torture. Of course, such a hostage would have to fit in certain criteria; certain aspects needed to be present in order to maximise sympathy... and Jean had found the perfect candidate.

"Good morning, lass~" He murmured softly, leaning closely into the girl's face with a needle in his hand, "Did you have a nice little nap there, hmm~? I hope you did. We have a lot to get through now, you know..."


A dimly-lit room in the basement of the office, far away from the intercom room that had been inhabited before. The metal walls were tainted with blood and rust, filling the air with a pungent smell of iron that permeated everything standing within the room. In the centre was an office chair, broken and torn from the earlier carnage, upon which sat a nightmarishly familiar sight to anyone who had a run-in with the mad doctor before.

The sickly abomination was smiling calmly to himself, idly running his hands through that filthy mess of hair he had. Though his attention was focused mostly on the door in front of him, he would occasionally turn to the corner of the room where his... companion was sitting against the back wall.

She, too, was sick and pale, though not in the same way the doctor was. Her pallor likely came from blood loss; every surface around her was slick with red, the blood still fresh enough to sharply reflect the glare of the dangling ceiling light. She looked beyond scared, sharing frightened glances with him as he continued to sit and smile in harrowing silence. All Jean needed to do was wait. A visitor would come at some point, and if they didn't? He would have to add one more suicide to the list of that day's casualties.

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Alpha » Sat Feb 09, 2019 12:51 am

It seemed Delta's 'infection' had a few benefits, as well as the hallucinations that had been plaguing him not hours earlier. It also progressed rapidly, given the changes his body seemed to be experiencing. Then again, that wasn't especially surprising, given what else the Alpha knew about his 'condition'.

The kick was avoided with relative ease. The clarity that this anger brought augmented her natural skills, so swaying back and allowing the boot to pass her by took little effort. Her instinct, upon seeing the weapon grabbed, was to prepare to cut the bullets down with her sword. Difficult, but with her training, far from impossible. Instead, she heard a dull thud as an innocent fell behind her.

The Alpha felt nothing. She'd been planning to do things with the girl, but the mild annoyance at losing that opportunity was nothing compared to her slow, cold contempt for Delta. There would be more innocents.

"This is almost boring, Delta." The Predator's tone was far from casual, as she slowly advanced, sword still very much at the ready. "Because I know how this fight ends. Not in your death, no. But in a few moments, I'm going to shove this sword through your chest and kick you off the side of this building."

Damocles was swung once again, with the Hunter's intent to open Richmond's throat. Not inherently lethal, but it was more meant to test the limits of his quote-unquote 'regeneration.'

"You won't enjoy what happens after that."

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Mach2 » Sat Feb 09, 2019 12:52 am

Talia had arrived in Detroit early, and set up shop. She had met with the Alpha. She had discussed her responsibilities. She knew the part she had to play, and she knew just how to carry it out.

Getting into the city had been easy enough. A windowless delivery van had carried her and her cargo - the being known as Panacea - through the city limits. Into a residential district, where she'd found an abandoned mom and pop shop - there were dozens to choose from in Detroit, where local businesses were founded and collapsed in the span of weeks - to serve as their base. After that, it was merely a waiting game.

Of course, she could hardly expect to be able to wait in silence. The Panacea was, as expected, less than thrilled by Talia's subjugation, and it was verbal about it. She could understand why. It must be humiliating. Having no choice but to follow the commands of someone who, in any other circumstances, it could destroy in a matter of seconds. The entity kept up an ongoing monologue, alluding to all the ways it intended to hurt her.

But the Panacea was hardly limited to idle taunts and unsubstantiated threats. Even bound, even with a bag over its head, this monster was still a destructive force. It's saliva was beyond corrosive, and she could hear it singing the concrete floor. Spittle fizzed against the cloth hood, slowly eating away at the material. Talia remained in her seat, unreactive, watching. At last, a single eye could be seen through the eroded fabric of the hood. It was an eye that she met with a smile, and an order.

"Don't call me petite fille."

A radio buzzed, and the Alpha's voice crackled through the speaker, carrying her instructions. Perfect timing. Talia stood, ready to act. She began to move forwards, maintaining an unblinking eye contact with the monster in front of her. She didn't have to worry about him looking away. All it had taken was one sentence the previous day - look me in the eyes when I'm speaking to you - and her control was virtually limitless. Even with only one eye visible through the corroding cloth bag, he would watch her. "We're going after Deterrence. Or rather, you are.
Don't move
, and
don't touch me,"
she instructed the Panacea, pulling a set of keys from her pocket.

Talia closed the distance between her and Panacea, walking behind the beast to undo the chains that bound him in place. She let them fall, and they clattered unceremoniously against the hard ground. With an air of confidence completely inappropriate for a woman of her size against a being as dangerous as Panacea, she stepped in front of him and removed the hood from his head. "They're a private military group. Practically an army.
You're going to murder their leader
. You can kill as many soldiers as you want in the process,
satisfy that bloodlust of yours
, but your goal is to
kill the man in charge."

She wasn't finished with her orders. Not yet. "Obviously, I won't be fighting. I'll be staying out of conflict, but I'll be close. I expect you to
stay within earshot of me
, but
do not indicate my location to the Deterrence troops
. If I come under attack,
you protect me.

It felt good. She couldn't deny that it felt good. After so many years of suppressing her abilities, of guarding her words, it felt good to command. Especially a creature that could wreak such havoc. She smiled, bright blue eyes still staring at the Panacea's glowing orange ones. "Do you understand?"

A brief moment, anticipating his confirmation, and then she would nod towards the door. "
Lead the way."

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Azra » Sat Feb 09, 2019 7:34 pm

A duck and a bullet passed over head a sudden pivot and a crow bar passed her by. No help was coming for these people it would seem from within. To many were enraged through whatever cruel methods were in play. A web shoots from Poison's wrist, though made of biological matter it was far more controllable. Easily changing direction just enough to slide into the pistol halting it from firing at her again. Though a sharp eye might have spotted a trickle of blood escape the muzzle. Pulling the gun out of hand snapped the pistol upwards whipping into the forehead of the gunman. Knocked unconscious the weapon was whipped around to collide with the back of the other thug.

Strength of the impact enough to toss him into a wall and put him out of commission. Sighing Jess looked to those she managed to rescue from the bridge. Her wrist flicked towards the various downed figures directing a web to each mouth. Was probably a bit gross and creepy if someone was awake to see it but was better then drowning. Each tendril would extract the water from the lungs, then once removed a light flick would impact the chest to help finish the job. Wasn't perfect and they still needed medical attention but it'd be enough to at least keep them alive. In addition the tendrils managed to extract dead cells and blood within the lungs and esophagus. While not a lot and more help then harm it did provide Poison with a bit more biological matter do to amount from the bridge. Granting her a hint more regeneration and strength.

With this a series of webs could be used to whip cars towards those she'd saved and pile them some. Walled off hopefully from any raging civilians within the streets. Before she could even find some comfort in actually helping people though in the distance she could spot people lining up on a roof. That many jumping was a villain as opposed to just depression and a fairly good calling of where to go. A web shot towards the buildings pulled taught and used to slingshot Poison into the air, swinging and theatrical spins quickly allowing her to close the distance. Nearing the various jumpers lead to a sight that was disgustingly familiar.

Twisted limbs, bones jutting from flesh, acid consuming flesh and organs. It wasn't identical but reminded her much of her own sickly birth as Poison. She refused to let it happen this time, webbing looked to ensnare those falling. They snaked into the open wounds and then consumed the broken organs then building replacements. Bones were set back in place her Shapeshifting biology filling cracks while consuming the unusable fragments. Was a bit of a double edged sword, it granted her more bio matter yes, but keeping them stable required a tether to stay in place between them. She hadn't taken in enough to let them go. Direct the bundles of webbed people into the air the nearly let go of as Poison nwould slingshot herself to the roof. Then through muscle control of the tendrils she could guide the sticky cocoons safely to the roof once more.

"So uh Mr and or Ms bad guy can you just direct me to where you're at so I can skip the inside horror show and just get to the whole fighting and I've a hostage bit?" The white and black clad we swinger really had her doubts about that as she called out. She'd head for the door in and probably have to go through a bunch of grizzly sights painting what the jumpers did to themselves previously. She'd bitten into people's heads though really did want just get to kicking around whoever was responsible.

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Meshindi » Sat Feb 09, 2019 11:55 pm

| β |
The air was filled with the blare of car horns.

Traffic on the eastbound portion of the bridge— the lanes heading into Detroit— had been completely stalled. Hudson sat at the helm of his company Cadillac, craning his neck to try and see what was causing the blockage up ahead. Every so often, he'd have enough space to roll his tires a foot or two forward before the cycle would begin again, the pungent odor of carbon monoxide emissions wafting into his car. Given that he had the heat on, it was practically getting blown in his face.

Stop. Beeping. Roll forward. Stop. Beeping. Roll forward.

I'm going to be late. Fuck's sake.

Eventually, traffic came to a complete halt. After a few minutes of slowly becoming lightheaded, people began to get fed up with whatever was causing the delay, exiting their cars and stepping out into the cold air in order to see just what the hell was happening; Beta, however, stayed put, opting to check his phone for any messages about what was happening in the city that could have resulted in the bridge being closed down. An accident, maybe? Construction? Usually, he was kept up to date about these things so he knew which routes to take when he came into the city. He was out near Chicago visiting relatives, opting to travel by car rather than helicopter because, well, he enjoyed road trips and driving. An odd trait, maybe, but the silence and solitude was comforting.

That, and MAVU helicopters didn't have heating. Even a few minutes in the air gave him frostbite— an affliction that was only increased by the metal plating under his body. Temperatures weren't retained well, and he always felt cold enough with the SAPS adhered to his body. Moving around in the cold only made it worse, and it was one of the only tried-and-true "weaknesses" he seemed to have, even though it was more of a discomfort in most situations.


Usual shit. Honestly, he hadn't been paying much attention to the news. Didn't concern him.

After a while, Hudson was able to make out the soft pulse of red and blue lights in the distance— an instense sight that only seemed to be getting closer. Sirens were heard next; a police bike whirled by his Cadillac soon after, nearly clipping his mirror as the small vehicle weaved through the space between the lane and the divider. The operative furrowed his brow, clicking the handle upon his door outward and swinging it open before stepping out into the frigid air of the bridge. Even with a jacket, gloves, and winter hat on, the wind still bit at his cheeks and made his entire body shiver for a moment.

Once the goosebumps subsided, however, a different feeling took the place of the shivers. Cops. A whole lot of them, going from car to car and opening the doors. In a hurry. A very large hurry. Hudson took a step forward before his phone rang, causing him to stop and dip a hand into his pocket to fish out his Android. Opulence Crochet Committee was listed under the contact info, which meant that the caller had been screened across multiple lines to render the actual number untraceable. Which usually meant only one person was calling him. Richmond.

The phone vibrated in his hand as he stared at the screen, mulling over whether or not he should answer it. After a moment, he pressed the green button on the bottom right side of the display and raised the phone to his ear, his bottom lip curling into an expression of distaste that the other caller couldn't see, unfortunately. Beta began to walk towards the mass of police officers, stopping momentarily once a woman knocked on her window beside him. He gave her a passing glance— enough to see who else was in the car. Her, and a kid in the back seat. He raised a hand as if to say hold on, moving past the white Buick and continuing forward.


"The Alpha's in Detroit."

That gave Hudson a second of pause. Richmond had been on some bullshit lately, between the lying about his condition and the overall asshole persona he possessed. O4 had little reason to be telling falsities at the moment, so O2 closed his eyes and sighed.

"And how do you figure that?"

"Because I just saw her in a titty bar with a friend of hers, Jon."

At a stripclub. Would expect that from Richmond, but not from an international terrorist.

"And you let her get away?" Hudson asked next, watching the cops near his own car with a frantic pace. People began to yell, now, in the far distance. He couldn't make out the words yet, given he was currently preoccupied with his phone call.

"No. It's complicated, I— you wouldn't understand. I'm inbound to Meier in Opulence. Meet me there."

What? This was the problem he always had with Quentin. This impulsive, self-important bullshit as if Beta was expected to just follow him on a whim. Did Richmond truly think he was stupid, or some shit? He wasn't just about to drop his meeting with corporate to go on a wild goose chase with a man who wasn't even supposed to be tied to their organization.

Nah, fuck that. All he could think.

"Look, Richmond, I don't know if you're tweaking or what..."

The officer was barely within earshot. Paired with Jon's focus on his lips, he could make out fragments of what was being said.

Evacuate... bomb threat... now.

Hudson's eyes narrowed. He took a step toward the officer, his phone already being pulled a small fraction away from his face.

"... but I'm trapped in fuckin' traffic and I'm not about to just..."

A voice cut through the commotion. People had begun to run, now. Initially, he didn't know what for, but the reason soon became apparent as he finished what he was saying to Richmond.

"...lay down whatever the..."


"... fuck I'm doing to—"

Thunder clapped. The world shook, and Beta felt himself move skyward in endless flight. His vision, already blurred from the movement, was thrust into darkness, momentarily blinded by the shock to his head and body; for a while, there was only a whine, a dull whine in his ears and mind as he felt himself strike something hard, cold ground meeting his shoulder and back.


Where was he? What just happened? The world came into focus from a tunneled blur, expanding out to the edges of his vision as plumes of fire and smoke wafted around him. His body shook— no, the ground shook, sloping downward as the integrity of the bridge began to fail. He could barely see a few feet in any direction; when he attempted to stand to his feet, he heard the scrape of metal upon shattered asphalt. A look downward confirmed his suspicions; the synthetic skin upon his feet, shins, and upper knees had been completely ripped off, blackened sections of subdermal plating exposed to the cold, smoke-infested air. No internal damage, hopefully. He could stand, which was enough.

The ringing within his ears began to slowly fade, replaced by the sounds of crackling fire and screams that cut through the black clouds before fading out amid thunderous, booming cracks of stone and the horrific cry of bending metal. In the distance, the impact of objects upon water were barely audible. Meshindi hobbled two steps forward, moving towards where his car had once been. His stride, tumultuous at first, eventually steadied. Shell-shock began to fade; life returned to his once-glassy eyes as the stupor cleared.

Fuck. Move. Keep moving.

The smoke was too thick to see through. In the distance, however, he could barely make out the figure of a car. A Buick, the one he'd seen the woman and child in— only the downfall of ash and rubble had covered the windshield, so he couldn't tell if they'd actually gotten out or not. It had been flipped onto its side, the explosion having completely blown a chunk through the ground of the bridge. The undercarriage of the car was flaming.

After approaching the car and kneeling down, a quick wipe of his hand upon the glass confirmed the worst. They were inside the car— at least the woman, from what he could see— and the driver in particular was unconscious. Beta acted quickly, placing his hands perpendicular against the hood and pushing the car off of its side, rocking it onto four wheels with a heavy groan from the damaged chassis. The bridge shook from the force, rubble falling as the ground began to depress.

Collapsing. Keep. Moving.

The response was automatic. Hudson moved around the front of the car and punched through the driver's side window, his fist receiving small incisions from the glass before curling around the sill and ripping the door off of its hinges in a single movement. He did the same with the back passenger window, opening the cabin of the vehicle to the now-warmed air of the burning bridge. His hands snapped to the seat-belt of the driver's seat, body half inside the car as he attempted to unclasp the mechanism. The extensive trauma to the car had locked it into place, making the operative resort to simply tearing the device free from the seat and taking the woman and child out himself.


Time ran out.

There was the ungodly sound of asphalt tearing itself in two, a heaping portion of the bridge finally collapsing under its weight. The downward motion was enough to send the car rocking backward, its wheels rolling toward the edge of the ground as Beta fell back and out of the vehicle's cabin. He shot to his feet, diving to the front of the car and slamming a hand under and through the undercarriage of the Buick while wrapping his other arm around a piece of protruding rebar. The car fell back, off of the bridge where it hung precariously, half-airborne, held up by Meshindi's strength alone. For a moment, the two objects remained still, the operative letting out a grunt of fierce conviction as he pulled, the front of the car creaking as it was slowly drawn upward.

But it was only a moment. The ground gave way; the rebar and all ground attached to it fell, dropping Meshindi, the car, and the bridge into the freezing river that ran through Detroit. Into a swirling vortex of darkness, a freezing sensation spreading over all portions of his body as the water buried him, pummeled him, threw him against the side of the car. The impact of his skull against the face of the windshield, no matter how strong his anatomy appeared to be, concussed him enough to cause him to abandon the grip upon the undercarriage, leaving both him and the car to sink separately into the abyss.


His advanced weight meant that, by his lonesome, he sank. Fast. He touched upon the silt of the riverbed alongside the Buick, his eyes mulled over in a haze of stars as the cold bit at his limbs and chest. Slowly, his limbs moved, sensation regained for the second time within minutes. Through the blur of the water, he could make out the form of the car. Movements constricted, he swam, his weight constantly fought against in a struggle to stay both alert and alive. The doorway of the driver's side came into focus, the woman's hair floated delicately underwater, strands waving around like weaving blades of grass. Her eyes were still closed. Unseeing. Unknowing. Did she feel the water around her? Feel the frigid temperature slowly killing her?

His hands pulled at the seat-belt once more, force lessened by the suffocating liquid around them all. He thrashed his arms, ripped at the seam, but it would not budge. The cold made his metal skin creak with every push and pull, the movements weighted. He felt his own self dying, slow at first, but increasing exponentially with each second that his lungs burned from the lack of oxygen. His thoughts turned to the child. Hudson pushed himself toward the back seat and set his hands upon the pillar between both windows, peering in. Gone. Thrown from the wreckage in the descent. Beta moved back to the front seat, resuming his futile effort to tear open the seating. The cold nearly made him blind, frigid water blurring eyesight as he used the last of his breath to let out a scream of anger, tearing at the seatbelt for one final time.

Nothing. The woman lay still, her hair twirling upon itself in the crepuscular light of the river. He hoped, prayed she did not feel a thing.

Self-preservation pervaded. In a movement not wholly his own, Beta forced himself away from the car and pushed up, up, swimming upward and watching the light grow with each stroke, each kick. The darkness alongside his vision grew with the white, a single dot of white among a sea of black as he broke to the surface with a splash, a gasping breath of air drawn in alongside water. He choked, coughing and hacking as he desperately tried to remain afloat.

His movements became slowed. Struggling became too monumental a task. Beta began to sink, slowly losing consciousness as the river took him.

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by illirica » Sun Feb 10, 2019 2:02 am

Detroit, Michigan. Event Clock 00:05 - 00:15

Things were chaotic. That was no surprise. Teja had pulled the vehicles she could out of the way, and her drone devices had pulled through the portal now as well, giving her extended coverage of the area, beginning to send captured images to her HUD. Most of the images she left as a series of scrolling thumbnails in her peripheral vision, but she could zoom in on anything that she thought might be important.

She wasn't alone in the rescue efforts. One of the drones captured a man on the bridge, trying to rescue people from a vehicle. "Identification Confirmed: David Keith, MAVU Enterprises. Head of Security Branch." What's he doing here? Aside from the obvious, of course. "Place of residence: Detroit, Michigan." That explained that. "Truncate recitation." Keith's file was public record, of course, but the public record seemed somewhat lacking. Zooming in on her aerial camera showed that while the facial recognition was up to date, the body recognition would certainly need adjustment, because her files didn't mention Keith having subdermal metallic plating.

First Chaya Levy, now this. What has MAVU been up to? Now there was a set of questions she'd have liked to have had a chance to ask about at the earlier expo in Solar City. Of course, she hadn't known then that they were questions that needed to be asked - and now wasn't the time to be asking them - not with there still being an active threat in progress. Teja kept up her efforts to keep as much as she could out of the water, and what remained of the bridge creaked with an unfortunate groan before letting go of itself and dropping further, along with many of the previously safe vehicles.

She grabbed for some of them, and David Keith of all people, grabbed for another - legitimately holding it for a moment, before the scaffolding he'd been grabbing onto fell through. She didn't catch the instant, but her drone captured it and prompted a replay when her tagged person-of-interest changed position by more than ten meters. He's in the water. She set down what she'd been able to, and made difficult decisions.

It was all well and good to say that the most innocent should be rescued first, because they were somehow the most deserving. Ethically speaking, the logic was sound - but a battlefield wasn't always about ethics, it was about tactics, and sometimes you had to choose to rescue the person who might help you do what needed to be done, at the cost of innocent lives. It wasn't a good choice, but when he failed to surface on his own, she made it anyway.

In a river full of metallic flotsam, finding one particular piece of metallic flotsam was surprisingly difficult. Her drones couldn't get a good view beneath the water with as much tumult as there was right now, and she could hardly dive herself without risking electrocuting everyone down there with as much charge as she was channeling at the moment. Teja wasn't even sure exactly what she was looking for, other than something metallic and man-shaped. After longer than she would have liked, she found it. The metal plates seemed to run throughout the entire body, which was... an interesting engineering problem for another time. She shifted charge into them, which probably felt somewhere between strange and unpleasant, depending on how they were integrated with his body - if he were even still conscious to feel it. Once the circuit was completed, moving him through the magnetic field was far easier, and she dropped him on the shore with a bit more care than she'd been able to exercise for the vehicles, which theoretically had airbags and safety systems.

She dropped herself into position beside him, the quickness of the movement compensated for by her inertial dampening system. Landing on the ground let her release the part of the magnetic field that was holding her in place, and she shifted the majority of it outward, across the river, trawling again to see if there was anything she could still do out there. Keith was scanning as Status: Alive rather than Status: Deceased, which was good. His vitals weren't great, but he was at least near-conscious. Teja spared him a little jolt to bring him around the rest of the way.

This would probably be a good time for a one-liner, if she were the sort of hero who was into that sort of thing. Or good at them. Instead, she just did what she could to pull another vehicle out of the river as time ticked forward to the point where any people recovered would no longer be among the living.

"Once you finish coming around, I could use your help." News reports were streaming in, and as anticipated things had quickly escalated and become more confusing. Teja stayed tapped in to the local media channel as reporters commented on Alpha's movement pattern. Being reporters, the statements were not precisely of much tactical use, of course, but it was something. "Alpha's somewhere in the Opulence district, I'm not sure where. If your astute friend is around and you people have a buddy system channel you can access, I'd appreciate any information available. There's a mass suicide going on at one of the office buildings which I suspect is assisted. Probably the Gene Therapist or the Matryoshka Doll."

She didn't have any official names for any of Alpha's cadre, so she'd been inventing her own. Both of those individuals had been present at the MAVU headquarters incident, and on review of records had also been present in the recent National Science Museum disaster. Gene Therapist was the one she suspected of being responsible for the mutation of the girl in the museum, as well as the individuals she'd put down in the MAVU laboratory, and the pretty, doll-like little girl with a face in her abdomen packed a powerful soporific effect, and Teja suspected both of them had more than that up their sleeves as well.

And, of course, Alpha had more people than that at her disposal. Teja strongly suspected she didn't even know how many. Alpha wasn't likely to field all of them at once - she was too smart for that. She'd hold some in reserve, so that no one was ever entirely sure of the number or composition of her forces. Still, Teja didn't think they'd seen all of them that were here just yet. The question was just which ones were going to pop up, and where, and when.

And, of course, what she was going to do about it.

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