The War on Peace [Open Event]

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Shedim » Tue Feb 12, 2019 3:05 am

| α |
Smug bastard. Even in the first minute she'd interacted with this utter clown, Shira held nothing but contempt. The things he'd done to Veigneur, the monster he'd transformed himself into at Washington— he was barely a human, if at all. Meier had to retain a conscious effort not to pull the trigger and send a slug through the torso of Gravesend as he spoke, the words sloughing off of her. Anything he said was meaningless. She'd get no answer out of him, she had no leverage over this fucking creature.

"... doesn't that sound like fun?"

"You're better dead to me than alive." Shira muttered simply, slinging the shotgun around her shoulder and unclipping a pair of cuffs from her belt. At the hostage's muttered word, however, Meier stopped.


Aleph waited.

Please hurt him.

The suffering this man had put everyone through, the anguish he'd inflicted upon her and the people she cared about...

He deserved to suffer. Deserved live every moment of his continued, pitiful existence in agonizing pain— but she was merciful. She would not be lowered to their level. Justice would be swift, and it would be painless.

Meier unholstered the Colt Python from her hip, clicked the hammer back, and leveled the revolver with Gravesend's head before firing without a second thought. She wouldn't spare a moment looking at his body, opting to turn to the hostage and approach quickly, leaning down and helping her up.

"We're getting you out of here. Come on."

Aleph patched into her comms headset.

"Gravesend's neutralized. No location on Gamma. Taking hostage for exfil."


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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Deterrence » Tue Feb 12, 2019 4:37 am


Location: Downtown Detroit
Incident: Cleanup

Stun pellets tore through crowds of infected civilians, powerful electric migraines overwhelming their faculties and dropping them into a deep sleep. Advancing down city blocks and cordoning off secure areas to keep the now-incapacitated victims of the Alpha safe, Deterrence steadily crept through the streets, encountering moderate to heavy resistance from the afflicted population. One of the most significant obstacles had been the lethal creativity of Detroit's sick; vehicles had been re-purposed into deadly killing machines, with blood-spattered vans and battered trucks alike swerving over sidewalks and ramming through defensive installations with reckless abandon. The use of homing bullets to shoot out their tires could prevent casualties, but never crashes - the sound of errant automobiles meeting fatal ends soon filled the air, along with the raving shouts of the artificially-incensed civilians.

Sergeant Flint oversaw all of this from the front lines, taking some shots of his own at pipe-wielding civvies who got too close. This was grim work, but necessary - these rioters were more dangerous to themselves conscious than knocked out. Many had already set off improvised explosives that had wiped them out during set-up. In order to administer cures, they'd need to be collected anyhow - and resistance could not be tolerated if it made injecting a syringe simply impossible.

"How're those samples looking, Doc?" he said, directly radioing Rushmore, currently situated at a medical bivouac established twenty miles out of Detroit. Her squad had set up rapidly, putting her significant brainpower to work on finding some measure of cure for those afflicted. Tightly-guarded civilians, once apprehended, had been delivered right to her doorstep, along with numerous samples from the water supply and air.

"Promising, Arno. Can't speak right now."

Flint closed his eyes and sighed. They were going to have to deploy scrubs to the entirety of Michigan in order to get the water drinkable again; the virus had already most likely moved downstream. Sanitation was reported to be on-scene; they'd be partnering with Eris to come up with some measure of a solution to this unmitigated disaster.

The only real solution is a bullet between the Alpha's eyes, he thought, shaking his head. Or a nice comfy cell. It'd make quite the statement to bring her in alive, but the odds of that seemed astronomically low. She'd probably kill herself out of pride or something rather than be taken in. Supertypes did not do well in prison, away from their masks and unable to exercise their power over others. Reduced to a number, put in an orange bodysuit - yeah, there was something about stripping away their coveted ultra-individuality, their love of attention, that was pure poetry.

Sergeant, we have a reading on some sort of exonormal creature currently tearing through the crowd. A lethal-type, fast and highly resilient. Most likely Pack-affiliated. Orders?

Dream off the clock, Flint.

Images of the creature played over his HUD. It was vicious, savage, and damn quick. That had to be handled by someone competent.

"I'm moving to engage the creature, now designated Threat One. Pull Squads Four and Five to support positions on nearby rooftops; I want an RPV on overwatch throughout the encounter."

With aerial eyes on the Threat One, Flint sprinted across the block, raising his left arm to a rigid 70° angle. A moment later, a monofilament wire shot from his vambrance, latching to a parapet. Engaging the reel, Flint was hoisted from where he ran up into the air, dragged in a controlled jump-swing to a higher position.

Hff. Hff. Hff.

Now rappelled to the side of a building, he ran alongside the windows with boots of powered nanocarbon, the Deterrence Exoframe working in conjunction with his powerful pseudo-muscle armor to propel him effortlessly across the surface of the skyscraper. Each step brought him closer to the edge.

At the last moment, he forced the line go taut, whipping him around the side of the building at breakneck speeds. His eyes picked up the target before his HUD, isolating Threat One in the epicenter of a blood-spattered road.

Let's tango.

The line ejected from his bracer with a simple command. Now plummeting towards Threat One at an absurd velocity, he let his armor lock, each joint fortified in preparation for impact. A moment later, his hyper-accelerated body would connect brutally with Threat One's, descending feet-first from above without warning at a speed that would crack the street beneath.

Abusing both his enemy's blind spots and the height advantage, Flint sought to brutally drive the Panacea into the road, following up with a series of swift point-blank high-velocity shots to the cranium with a deftly-drawn PKD .38 special sidearm.

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Reyn » Tue Feb 12, 2019 1:22 pm

Before he could possibly react, there was a bullet in the doctor's head. A swift end, one rather unfitting for him, but an end nonetheless. His head dropped down onto his chest, the lifeless neck no longer able to support him as his blood dripped down from the fatal wound to pool in his lap. Aside from the faint creaking of the old office chair as it slowly recovered from the shockwave, there was complete silence. No laughter, no sly comments, no breathing, save for the faint sigh of the girl in the corner.

Then, there was a crack.

Though the man was clearly dead, his death was recent enough that his cells hadn't all fully died yet. Instead, they were changing, mutating in a rapid, gory process that caused more blood to spatter across the back wall than any bullet wound could hope to achieve. His arms contracted, sliding into themselves like a compressed spring as the grinding of his joints cried out from beneath his shifting flesh. His eyes, once a striking violet, had the pigment slowly eaten away and replaced by a glassy blue stare. His skin, scarred and disfigured, began to smooth out until it was barely recognisable as belonging to Jean Gravesend at all... because it didn't.

In his place, on the office chair, was the bleeding corpse of the hostage.

She looked young up close; the poor thing couldn't have been much older than sixteen when she died. She was healthy as well... at least, before this incident. Even in death, she looked less sickly than her captor. In a humiliating turn for the worse, Jean's twisted smile was still evident on her face in her final resting position. As rigor mortis set in, it became increasingly likely that she would be buried with that vile expression poisoning her corpse until it was rotten enough to be unrecognisable. A swift end, one rather unfitting for her, but an end nonetheless.

Jean, the real Jean, slowly stood up from the corner of the room, looking like the perfect mirror image of the corpse in the chair, save for a few extra knife wounds. He leaned his back against the wall, tutting quietly at Aleph before he spoke with the hostage's stolen voice.

"You know, Bisset made the same mistake as well." He sighed, "Ah, what is it with you MAVU types and thinking you've got someone down? Don't they teach you not to take everything as it first seems? My, what a disappointment..."

Soon, his flesh began to warp as well; a process very familiar to him. Jean couldn't help but smile as his body went through the motions. The stretching of his arms, the scarring of his chest, the dissolution and rebuilding of his iris, the slowly blurring vision that caused him to quickly take the glasses from the face of the corpse... a painful transformation, and one he wanted to relish in. The hostage was unlikely to be the last thing this woman shot through the head, so he decided to take some precautionary measures. As he had done with Bisset on the night he took him home, Jean removed his organs and stretched his brain down his spinal cord, causing him to gasp involuntarily. Though the shift in appearance was a sensation he was used to, these drastic defensive measures produced a pain that he could never forget.

After a few moments to steady himself, Jean slowly walked to the centre of the room, taking the blood-spattered labcoat from the hostage and pulling it around his shoulders.

"Tell me... how did that feel?" He smiled, "Was it good? Did it satisfy your bloodlust? Does a sweet young lass like you even have desires like that?"

Jean laughed.

"And all she did to you was smile..."

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Shedim » Tue Feb 12, 2019 3:44 pm

| α |
The ungodly sound of marrow cracking upon itself brought Shira's gaze away from the hostage and towards the source of the noise, her eyes settling upon the warping and constricting body of the doctor she had just killed. At first, Meier thought it was a trick, some obscene act of martyrdom designed to maim and kill others, even in death; the operative aimed her Python once more— the double action mechanism having already set the hammer back for another shot— and stood, removing her attention from the hostage and stepping towards the twitching corpse of the man she'd just killed.

In a moment, it became apparent that it was not a man, but a woman.


The irises shifted into a muted azure hue. Arms and legs slimmed. The face of the girl in the corner of the room slowly melted together, its formation something akin to something out of a dream. Was Shira hallucinating? No. She wasn't. There was no way that her mind was being tampered with.

God, no.

She looked youthful. The life hadn't even fully left her eyes yet, the pupils dilated as the corpse gave a blank stare to the center of the ceiling. Meier had shot her without a second thought. No inhibitions. No reservations. No guilt— not until she'd fully comprehended what she had done. There was a strained breath, shaken, as her eyes swept over the body, hoping to find some sort of flaw or— or some sort of trick. No such boon was given to her, and Aleph could only stare at the cadaver of an innocent she had killed.


The dots connected. Shira whirled around and aimed her revolver at the second hostage just in time to see the real Gravesend form back together. They'd swapped bodies. He'd forced her to kill somebody he'd kidnapped, tortured. It was all part of his sick game. His sick fucking pleasure. Meier's eyes burned. She wanted to vomit, but she kept the feeling down, blinking away the moisture in her eyes as she steadied her aim. The taunts came, but she did not listen. The world fell away, replaced only with thoughts of vengeance, hatred, and malice. Meier holstered her sidearm, feeling the firearm quake in her grip. The shoulder sling of her shotgun was brought off of her arm, the operative leveling its barrel with Gravesend not a moment later.

Tell me... how did that feel?

She didn't dignify a response. There was no bloodlust to satiate, no animalistic desire for him to capitalize on. Aleph moved to the stairwell out of the basement, blocking the path with her body and weapon. Cut him off, then cut him down.

And all she did to you was smile...

"I bet you're patting yourself on the back." She said, voice barely trembling.

"But you just showed your hand, and there is not a single option here that lets you walk out of this place alive. I win, Gravesend. You lose."

She aimed her shotgun at the man's kneecaps, sending a slug towards both legs to disable his movement as much as she could. Meier followed up the attempt by moving in on the doctor, turning to his back and attempting to wrap an arm around his neck to put him in a chokehold.

"I knew your parents, once." Aleph hissed as she tightened the grip on his throat.

"Bisset was right— it's no wonder that they didn't want to talk about their fucking failure of a son."

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Alpha » Tue Feb 12, 2019 11:55 pm

Lucia's face was impassive, as Delta's claws tore away at her skin. As she was shoved away by his knee. As she darted forwards' and sunk the sword into his chest, far enough that she was within inches of his face.

"You have no chance, when I've already seen the outcome."

With a powerful kick, the Alpha shoved Richmond off her blade, and off the edge of the skyscraper. He'd impact in the water below, but from this height the landing would be like hitting concrete. Even if his new abilities saved him, sinking into the water with a dozen broken bones would likely finish him off.

Or so the Hunter had thought, in a timeline that'd not existed. So as she'd peered over the edge to watch Delta die, that other Alpha had been shocked when something else entirely occurred. Leading to her almost immediate death. Which, in turn, had led to this timeline.

So this timeline's Apex Predator instead turned, and dashed towards the Raptor. Not to flee, but to retrieve a few items. As she ran, the wound on her shoulder was quickly bandaged, and checked for any signs of the same affliction that had made the Praeceps operative more machine than man. Once cleared, she hoisted her weapon, and returned to the edge of the building.

A rocket launcher was mounted on the Alpha's shoulder. Her eyes were on the spot where Richmond had fallen. Looking, for all the world, like a very dead human. But the moment his rebirth was complete, he'd be met with an RPG to the face.

This was far from the only contingency, of course. There were napalm grenades, neurotoxins, and even the Raptor's armor-piercing rounds, if it came down to that. It would be a shame to deploy them here, though. The Alpha quite liked their abode.

Still, Lucia couldn't quite shake the feeling that all her preparations wouldn't be enough.

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Mach2 » Wed Feb 13, 2019 2:27 am

Perhaps she had misspoke.

She had certainly misjudged the sheer force behind this creature's bloodlust. Had she been more aware of just what her words were about to unleash, she may have considered them with slightly more caution. Wanton destruction wasn't Talia's style. She preferred precision. She preferred control, over every parameter that could be controlled.

But still. The end result would be the same.

She grabbed her coat off the chair's back and ran out after the Panacea, zipping the jacket as she exited into the bitter cold. It was in her best interests to stay close. Despite removing the chains and letting the beast lose, Panacea was still on a psychic leash. Stay within earshot. If she followed, it would be free to track the Deterrence troops. Like a hunter after prey.

However, it seemed much more interested in the more immediate prey that they were surrounded by. The civilians currently flooding the chaotic streets of Detroit. And the Panacea only served to further fuel that chaos. He was totally unfocused on finding the Deterrence troops, instead prioritizing her command to kill, indiscriminately. Briefly, she considered the fact that she may need to revise her orders. People screamed, trying to run away, and Talia had to fight against them to keep the monstrous creature in her line of sight. But no matter which way she was shoved, losing the beast in the chaos wasn't high on her list of concerns. For one thing, he had to stay close. She had commanded it. For another...he left a trail.

Wherever the Panacea walked, the streets were stained red with blood, and fresh screams echoed into the air. Talia smirked, realizing there was no need to shout more instructions at the brute. With the violence he was causing, it was only a matter of time before they attracted exactly the attention she wanted. She just had to watch and wait. With a few well-placed elbows and shoulder-checks, Talia bodied her way to the sidewalk, climbing onto a small ledge offered by the architecture of the nearest building to allow herself a better view of the street. Where was Deterrence?

She'd just barely gained her vantage point when she caught sight of it. Motion in her peripherals. Not on the street, where she would have expected. But in the air. A dark shape, falling fast, on a collision course. "Pan, look out!" she yelled sharply. Though technically a command, it lacked the eye contact necessary to activate her powers. The warning would be interpreted as just that - a warning.

Talia didn't wait to see the outcome of the collision. The Panacea was important, but self-preservation was her priority. As a new recruit to the Pack, she was well aware of her status as a secret weapon. And secrets needed to stay hidden. Jumping down from the ledge, she allowed herself to be caught up by the rush of fleeing civilians.

Just another face in the crowd.

A few more elbows to peoples' sides and she managed to fight her way to a hiding place. An occupied hiding place. Two others were currently crouched low, taking advantage of the shelter of the parked Dodge Ram. A small girl on the brink of tears, and a man who looked far too young to be her father, with hair too fair to even be a relative. Talia looked the man in the eye and spoke a single word. "

He obeyed, scrambling to his feet without a second thought. Her hand lashed out, gripping him around the wrist before he could take more than a single step. He looked back in surprise, and their eyes met again.
"Take her with you,"
Talia hissed in exasperation, nodding to the girl he'd been ready to abandon.

And he did, scooping the child up in his arms before sprinting away. With the new hiding place all to herself, Talia knelt down, crawling underneath the bed of the truck. The mix of slush and ice on the road soaked through her knees almost immediately. But at least from here, she could see. She was hidden, but could make out the lower bodies of the Deterrence operative and the Panacea. If circumstances arose where she needed to shout a new command, she could easily move to a position where she had a direct line of sight. For now, she watched.

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Blight » Wed Feb 13, 2019 4:01 am

'Opulence' Region of Detroit, Michigan.
This is the end.
Operative(s) Engaged: Quentin Richmond [CALLSIGN: DELTA].
Good luck, Shira.
Richmond's teeth sliced through the flesh of the Alpha's collarbone, his knee connecting with her torso and delivering enough force to send her back a step for a moment of reprieve. He smiled, complacent enough to believe that he could contend with the Pack's leader— at least for a small while longer. Enough to be a decent distraction. That was all he could hope for, right?

No. He couldn't even have that.

Quentin had accustomed himself to the hallucinations his affliction brought— the tendrils of red were not truly there, and the red hue that permeated the skyline of Detroit was a fabrication of whatever presence had infiltrated and corrupted his brain. Never before, however, had the visions actually affected reality in any way, besides stilling his movement for a microsecond and disrupting his train of thought. The hallucinations were obstacles to be dealt with, disregarded and rejected. The sword in Lucia's hand was brought to Delta's attention with a flourish, his body already reacting and adapting to the microscopic details and twitches of her approach to determine the most effective course of movement.

It was then— the blade careening towards him, point aimed at his chest— that he realized the tendrils had moved around his ankles, rooting them in place. He didn't even attempt to dodge, the Alpha's sword cutting through his chest and slicing through to the hilt. The vines released their nonexistent grip upon his ankles, freeing his legs to take a small stumble backward; Richmond let out a cough of blood that arced out into the air and splattered across Lucia's face in an unintended act of defiance.

You have no chance, when I've already seen the outcome.

A throaty, blood-filled chuckle escaped from the operative's lips. Both hands reached down towards their respective pant pocket, searching for a lighter and cigarette pack to grip onto with a trembling grip.


Another cough.

"H-how does that— power of yours work again, L—"

A kick. One brutal kick, and he felt himself flying over concrete to open air, the edge of the rooftop passing by as Richmond began his plummet downward. How many seconds did he have left? He didn't know, really. Nobody really knew, when it came down to it. Well, that wasn't entirely true— with the Silent Math, he'd most likely be able to calculate the time it would take for him to hit the ground, but there was always the relative uncertainty. Microseconds, maybe nanoseconds. The same microscopic units that he counted on to save him from harm.

The last thoughts drifted away. The packet and lighter were pulled out as he entered free-fall, a last cigarette quickly drawn and put in between bloodied lips as he quickly shifted the breathing mask on his mouth. He didn't have much time. Two seconds, maybe three. He'd at least try to get the light off, maybe take a drag before his body turned into a red fuckin' paste on the rapids below. Would need to be quick about it, though. Accurate. Make sure the lighter didn't wave out and die. Carefully, Richmond brought the lighter to the end of the cigarette and cupped his hands around its head, calculations already carried out to determine how he would need to angle his palms to prevent the wind from blowing out the flame.

Focusing on the lighter for his last moments, Delta flicked his thumb back over the small roller on the side of the lighter.


Nothing. An instantaneous realization snapped across the operative's mind.

Ran out of fluid two days ago—


The force of impact shattered the back of Richmond's skull nigh-instantaneously, whiplash breaking his neck in tandem with the grotesque landing; the force with which the operative impacted the flaming mass of helicopter wreckage was enough to jolt the cigarette out of his mouth, breathing mask automatically slipping back into place to cover a spray of blood from his mouth and nose. The chest wound was superficial compared to the mangling of Delta's skeleton in the collision, shards of bone cutting through muscle and puncturing skin as pieces of charred metal impaled his torso and neck.

Only darkness. For a moment, the world lay still, Richmond's body still somehow clinging to a last vestige of life as his eyes rolled upward, the red tendrils snaking out from the inferno around him. The river nearly froze over in the wake of the polar vortex, meaning that the current was non-existent. He waited for death to take him, one moment stretching out into an infinity as the vines of crimson snaked around his body, coiling and biting into flesh. A burning sensation, distant from the trauma placed upon his body and mind, was felt behind his eyes.

The time has finally come, my child.


The agony was palpable, now, his senses returning and broadcasting one stimuli: pain. Richmond's body jerked as a glossy, blackened mass formed over his eyes, eating away at the tissue and replacing it with something else entirely. The world cleared from its blurred state, a flurry of colors and indescribable hues passing across his vision as the operative recognized spectrums of light he had never seen before. The tendrils which pooled in his consumed sockets began to stretch outwards, climbing onto his face and eating away at the bruised and battered skin.

You will be reborn. Reborn in an image of perfection.

The patches of nanotechnology around his body began to spread unhindered, now, replacing every region of his body with a new layer of flesh that was a black as the night itself. The shattered frame of glasses that lay beside his head were eaten, dragged into the mass of tar that had formed around Richmond's head and turned it into an amorphous mass. The rest of his body followed a similar process, turning into a writhing mass of tangled red and blackened tendrils which coiled upon one another like threaded fibers, constricting the body and forming a distinct human-like form. Tan flesh turned to pitch as the last remnants of Delta's mortal body were assimilated, offered as tribute and nourishment to the entity which consumed him.

The reddened vines cooled to black, forming a man-thing which grew sharpened talons along its hands and feet. Its mouth, once solidified and hidden, cracked open to reveal small vestiges of cellular tissue along the jawline, its teeth whitened to perfection as the whitened borders of eyes began to form upon its face.


From within the tide of fire, Delta's eyes cracked open. He raised a hand, pulling himself off of the shards of metal that had impacted and torn through his body; tendrils reached out from the places of impalement and ate at the material, breaking down the helicopter's refuse and assimilating the wreckage into his own form. Such a process was involuntary, uncontrolled.

After standing within the roiling flames, he spoke only one word.



There was the acknowledgement of a prior goal, of some sort of memory that had preceded rebirth, but all other considerations were shoved aside for a singular emotion. Hate. Somebody had done this to him, kicked him off a roof and plummeted him to his death. Her name was Lucia. His intentions once he got his hands upon this bitch were plain enough.

But it seemed that this Lucia had plans of her own. Not a moment after he looked skyward, a rocket impacted him directly in the chest; the detonation sent Delta flying across the width of the river into the face of a rocky cliff, his chest opening up to the frigid air and exposing a myriad of organs and nanotechnology to his eyes. Memories came flooding back. Fuck. He was human before this, before— before—

"The fuck is happening to me, what the fuck—" Richmond muttered, raising a clawed set of hands into his gaze. The realization of why a rocket had just been fired at him— the Alpha— came a moment later. Of course. She knew what was happening to him, and she was prepared. Better to leave, to figure out what was happening to him. To arrive back later, with a vengeance.

Delta pulled himself onto the rocky cliff and began to scale the wall vertically, a feat that would have been otherwise impossible if not for his new... enhancements. A drainage tunnel was exploited and entered, with the operative disappearing into the darkness of the sewage system a moment later.

Still your hand for now, my child. Strike when they are weak.

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Reyn » Wed Feb 13, 2019 3:07 pm

There was an expression of deep regret on her face. She tried to hide it of course; they all tried to hide it, but Jean was used to things like that. Though he was no master at psychoanalysis, he had done things like this enough times to recognise her struggle. Regret, anger, hatred, locked behind that frosted glare of hers, hidden so expertly from sight even though it was gnawing away at her on the inside. Jean smiled in return, and that smile only widened when she brought out the shotgun.

He didn't make any sly comments before she shot him through the kneecaps. There wasn't much need to, after all; nothing he could really say would make her want to kill him any more than she already did, it seemed. The shots connected, but that was deliberate. He felt his bones shatter under the force, causing his feeble legs to give way underneath him so he was only supported by the woman's arm around his neck. A chokehold. Wasn't that familiar? Though his knees were quickly and silently reformed, the damage had already done, and the pain had already been felt.

Jean let himself sink into the woman's grip, leaning his body against hers as the barely-contained sighs of pleasure escaped him. He was weak; the sensation had caused his body to relax into near-uselessness, and the numbing delirium had begun to set in on his mind. If he had been another man- hell, if he had been his normal, unmutated self, Jean would've been dead. Such an easy kill for a man who who refused to die.

She mentioned his parents. Of course she mentioned his parents. There was once a time when the mere sound of their names was enough to send the doctor into a blind rage... but those times, along with those monsters, had passed. Jean's will and fortitude was by no means indomitable but, in recent times, he had fallen so far himself that anything that used to hurt him just broke him down into uncontrollable laughter. You can't break what's already broken, after all. Gravesend was a man in fractures; turning those fractures to dust would do nothing but allow him to spread his filth even further.

"Ooooh~ metioning my parents, are we?" He laughed, his voice hoarse from the pressure on his neck, "Did Bisset tell you that would work, hm~? Did he tell you how well it turned out for him when I made him kiss me and ripped out his tongue?"

His laughter intensified, turning into those ever-familiar unhinged cackles as he slowly reached a hand into his labcoat. General anaesthetic. Better to put her down and leave her something nice to wake up to, rather than risk showing his hand a second time.

"Ah, I mourn his loss as much as you do, lass..." He smiled, "So much wasted potential in that man; it really was a tragedy he had to die so young..."

Jean flicked the needle out of the coat, aiming to pierce it through the woman's skin.

"There was so much more of him I had yet to defile."

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Shedim » Wed Feb 13, 2019 5:17 pm

| α |
Jean's words began to dig at Aleph's emotions, unearthing the rage she'd pushed down in order to keep a calm mind; the mention of Veigneur, however, opened the tide once more, grip tightening around her target's neck as she tried to stop herself from hearing more. She couldn't bear to think about what this fucking monster had done to her trusted colleague, her friend. This was her fault, wasn't it? Letting him go out and hunt after this animal, unaware of what this thing was capable of. They were too compassionate, showed too much mercy.

"You're lying, you piece of SHIT." Meier growled, ignoring the godless noises that emanated from the man's mouth. Kill him. Kill him and be done. Do it. Her bicep tensed, pressing against his airway and constricting it even further. Sinking into her grip only allowed Aleph to position herself better for a lethal grapple. Good. The less effort required to extinguish this man's life, the better.

"Ah, I mourn his loss as much as you do, lass..."

A lie. Everyone was a fucking puppet to him.

"So much wasted potential in that man; it really was a tragedy he had to die so young..."

Meier drove her knee into his back, with the intent to hit his spine and tailbone. Cause pain in whatever way she could. Get him to shut up, shut his fucking mouth—


The reaction was a millisecond too late. The pointed edge drove into her forearm as she shifted her grip and swatted the glass body, smashing it to pieces and scattering loose shards into her knuckles; from what she was able to see in the instant the injector made contact, only half of the contents were delivered. Which meant she had time. Not much, but enough to finish what she'd started.

"There was so much more of him I had yet to defile."


She pressed against his throat with both arms, aiming to jerk her hands to one side in order to snap his neck and kill him— or, at the very least, subdue him for as long as possible. She drove another knee into his back, intending on breaking his spine in while her strength was still present. Meier tripped him to the ground next, flipping him onto his back and entering a haze of anger as she knelt over him and put her weight upon his chest, strikes lashing out with the intent of barraging his face and head.


CRACK. Shira went to cave in his nose with her fist.

"— SACK—"


"— OF SHIT—"

CRKC. She moved onto his eyes and forehead, now, intending to leave his face an unrecognizable heap when she was done with him. The repressed anger, the hidden emotion— it all bled out into her punches and yells, her voice quickly turning hoarse as she screamed at the man who had killed her closest ally, mutilated and tortured a person she'd cared about. Adrenaline fought back againt the sedative, her fists refusing to tire in their endless assault against Gravesend's visage.





"KILL YOU!" Meier shrieked, tears blurring her vision as she let one hit after another land upon Jean's face, hoping to brutalize his body into a fucking paste. He deserved it— he deserved to die, and so, so much more. But it wouldn't have any effect, because he'd just keep laughing, cackling like a fucking wounded hyena. There would be no satisfaction, so she'd punch his head and throat until he couldn't laugh, couldn't express, the ability to emote removed entirely. Her limbs burned with exertion as she struck him for what felt like a millennia, the skin flaying off of her knuckles as she swung back, and forth.

Back, and forth.

Her vision darkened. Aleph threw herself off of Gravesend, picking up the shotgun from the floor and accessing her communicator. She contacted someone who knew where she was, and who'd be able to get to her. Richmond.

"Quentin, get to the MAVU Water Treatment Facility. I've been drugged, I-I'm going to pass out, please get over here or I think I'm going to fucking die." Meier pleaded, aiming her shotgun lazily and firing off a shot towards the doctor in case he tried to get up. God knows how many fucking surprises these monsters pulled. The operative limped up the stairs, succumbing to the sedative with a rapid pace.

"Hurry. Please."

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Re: The War on Peace [Open Event]

Post by Azra » Thu Feb 14, 2019 8:02 pm

A thin web looked to spread throughout the building small strands which were laced with small sensory organs to learn the lay of the land. Didn't seem to be anyone home for the longest time but it felt like a given that someone was. Mostly all Poison found was blood and pieces of people from whatever psychopath had turned this place into a playground. Webbing looked to clean some of that chaos up. Wasn't a cleaning crew and it repulsed her, but with each cell of flesh each drop of blood she could feel herself grow. Just a hint stronger here, just a slight feeling of being faster there.

She stuck close to the windows as her webs searched, keeping an eye on the buildings across the way. Any time she could manage it she would project a web out the window. Her strength letting it pass through the glass and head across the road. Where it would lance through another window to find a raving civilian or pivot in flight to find someone on a roof. Force them to be stuck to a surface. A grip like steel helping contain some of the situation, she didn't have an army at her disposal but figured she could do her part.

Of course every instance of using a tendril disguised as a web, every taste of flesh and blood spilled lead to different thoughts. She couldn't help but feel like if she just consumed more she could help more. If she just appealed to the hunger her webs could reach out further. These thoughts only had a way of growing as webs found the few survivors here. Talk of torture and victims. Desires for revenge seemed to guide actions more than one wished to admit to. It to part of Poison felt relatable, much as it disgusted her some of it had a lure to a side of her. Every time he spoke she couldn't help but imagine herself if she'd just embraced that other side of her.

More she heard the more apart of Poison felt this fight wasn't for her. It seemed like this assault on the city was built for a handful of targets and everyone else was just set dressing. It wasn't about heroes and victims, anarchy filled streets and armies it all felt personal. If Jessica didn't deal with her personal grudge back on Rykers she might not be who she was today, part of her felt obligated to let those moments come. She did decide though that if someone didn't come to help the soldier with a grudge, if the disgustingly similar criminal was going to walk away from this she had to get in the way.

A black tar like sludge would drip from ceilings growing into a web that left little space to pass through. Each seeking to seal off possible exits on the floor. Try and at least keep the monster on this floor having to encounter Poison herself or whoever came for his latest victim.

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