The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
The collision with the concrete was far softer than he had imagined it would be; after all when one leaps from a moving vehicle they normally retain some amount of harmful impetus. However in this instance the sadistic anarchist found his residual momentum to be a boon rather than a hindrance for it had carried him clear across the opposite lane of traffic and into a grey haired antediluvian individual who had been in the process of retreating at a rather surprising pace for one his age. Still the malicious wanderer was not one to look a proverbial gift horse in the mouth and so gladly rolled with the prone form beneath him, allowing it to sustain the majority of the damage. When the pair at last exhausted their kinetic energy Hull swiftly scrambled to his feet and fled into the remnants of the crowd, not even sparing a cursory glance for the poor soul he had used as a human shield.
Moving now with the swarm of panicked individuals still lining the street the macabre traveler hurriedly stripped off his newly acquired leather trench coat and slung it over his shoulder. One of the many things he had learned from his time in the armed forces is that people rarely remember a face unless something about it truly stands out, instead the majority of humanity tends to remember other things such as the style of raiment’s, the colour of hair and possibly height of those around them. By simply cloaking his form in the leather jacket the ex soldier had insured that his attire was likely the only thing that denizens of the city would recall when asked about the mad man driving the deadly van.
Veering away from the crowd as things once again began to calm down the sinister traveler quickly momentarily ducked into a side alley so that he might properly judge the extent of his latest escapade. He hadn’t been able to view the vans collision after all, as he had being rather preoccupied with disassociating himself from the scene of the incident. Despite that though the foreign fiend had managed to hear the impact; the clash of metal upon metal ringing harmoniously the cries of terror and alarm had created quite the soothing melody in the malign wanderers mind. Still the man had wanted to see the full scope of his havoc, art could hardly be appreciated without the full use of all ones senses after all, and so as Hull his toxic viridian gaze upon the sight of the wreck a demented grin tugged at his lips, exposing his alabaster teeth in a predatory manner.
Verily the demented wanderer could not have asked for more, the carnage stretched to almost every vehicle in the vicinity from fire engines to ambulances to police cars. It was an awe inspiring sight and it ripped a low, menacing, chuckle from the malevolent foreigner’s lips, his eyes darting to and fro as he surveyed the scene. The sinister laughter did last long however for the former soldier’s emerald gaze rapidly fixed upon a sight that swiftly eroded his mirth.
‘Oh for f***’s sake! I choke her, gore her, I run her over with a damn van! Who the hell gave her god mode?’
Across the street, in the midst of the mangled wreckage and shards of twisted metal a translucent form was gradually gaining substance. It was still a vague outline at the moment but the sadistic wanderer could already recognize it for what it was; the white haired bitch was proving quite the challenge and Hull was slowly losing patience. The macabre traveler had kill mutants before, they were nothing special, certainly they could be a little more problematic than your run of the mill human but generally Hull took them down by his third strike. The demented anarchist could barely remember the last time he’d had to make a fourth attempt, and while a part of him enjoyed the challenge it did not surpass his gradually growing aggravation.
“What the f***’s going on?”[/color]
“No way in hell this is normal, think there’s a freak behind it?”[/color]
“I’d bet on it, no one else would be screwed up enough to try shit like this.”[/color]
Hull’s ears perked as his mind rapidly processed focused the uncensored bigotry spewing from the huddle of males just outside his alleyway. There were only six of them and although they possessed formidable frames it was clear from their posture that they were little more than street thugs, one element however caught the killer’s eye; a faded tattoo upon the arm of one of the mindless hessians which read C.o.H in an antediluvian gothic script. The trio of characters formed an acronym which was recognized across the country, if not the globe. The Church of Humanity; a larger collection zealots would bigots would be difficult to find. Although the group had faced some negative press and financial difficulty recently they were far from gone and, as was demonstrated here, groups of them still roamed the streets; actively searching for any isolated mutants upon which they could deliver judgment.
‘This is proof that I am special and that someone down there loves my work.’
Raising his viridian gaze from his leather boots the malevolent wanderer smothered the gleeful grin which threatened to monopolize his features as strode purposefully towards the gaggle of goons, a deep set scowl quickly working its way across his lips.
“What the f*** do you want?”[/color] Such a diverse vocabulary, clearly this individual had graduated from the college of asinine idiocy with a degree in English and Communication.
And the press claimed education was failing…
“Same thing you assholes do, to put the freaks in their place. No way in hell am I gonna roll over and just let tear my home to… I don’t f***ing believe it!”
With his exclamation drawing attention the ex soldier quickly cast his arm out and directed it towards the now fully formed female specter who, as previously mentioned, had conveniently coalesced herself in the middle of the metallic carnage. The implications of her presence were all too clear to the uniformed and Hull intended to milk this moment of serendipity for all it was worth.
“What the f***?!”[/color]
‘Again the scholar of the group.’
“I don’t f***ing believe it!”[/color]
‘Ah, another alumni.’
“That bitch! I knew the freaks couldn’t be trusted!”[/color]
‘Well I suppose three for three would have been somewhat dull.’
The other zealous members of group quickly began to adopt similar cries of outrage, rapidly growing in rage and intensity as they began to smell blood. For his part the sinister wander kept stayed towards the rear; splitting his attention between cries of hatred and bigotry and persuading other civilians to do the same. In under five the previously shocked and terrorized crowd had mutated into raving mob, one which was eager to enact its own form of justice upon the one they felt had caused them wrong. Despite their unquestionable anger though the group was hesitant to actually approach the ghostly figure before them, fore they did not truly know what she might be capable of, and as with most the mob feared what it did not understand causing a invisible barrier to form to separate rabble from the phantom and her little boy toy.
‘Goddamn sheep, do I have to hold their hand for everything?’
Slowly sliding a palm down his face Hull lowered his hands to his side, intending to crouch down acquire a fistful concrete from the road beneath his feet. Just before his knees were about to bend however his emerald eyes caught sight of a most delightful scene… a liquor shop.
Barely a heartbeat later the anarchist’s legs were sprinting forward, eagerly carrying their owner to his desired location as another malevolent machination formed in his mind, it was fairly simple, but then the most effective schemes always are. It only required a single component along with a handful of ingenuity, something the macabre bomber possessed in spades. Thus as he darted into the alcoholic establishment the only question which wandered through his thoughts was whether he possessed sufficient funds to pay for his intended purchases; taxes were what kept the world going after all.
--
Molotov cocktails, a truly wondrous concept which allowed anyone to take a container of spirits and rapidly convert it into an impromptu grenade with only a little cloth and a spark of fire. Its simplicity and destructive potential made it beautiful in Hulls eyes as he once more made his way towards the rear of the crowd, his arms burden with a collection of intoxicating tonics with which to fuel the ferocity of the crowd.
In almost no time at flaming projectiles graced the air, arcing their way through insubstantial space which separated mob from victim before gravity began to take hold in earnest, causing them to crash harshly against the unforgiving ground and scatter their blazing contents across the earth. Sadly the rabbles initial aim was rather poor, yet with each successive missile that was launched their precision increased...
‘Joy to the world,’ ‘Chaos has come,’ ‘Your fears will soon prevail,’ ‘Death, Destruction and deprivation.’
‘Will soon be all you know,’ ‘Will soon be all you know…’
With his open palm still offering the argent blade to his latest acquaintance Hull’s pleasant demeanor faded slightly as the woman failed to take hold of the item she had requested. It appeared as though the girls attention had drifted somewhat for her gaze was no longer directed towards the macabre wanderers own emerald eyes, instead the strange woman’s focus had lowered, as though she were pondering the travelers question. Admittedly the query may have been somewhat odd, but considering the mental state of two individuals it was perhaps only to be expected. In either case after only a moment or two of silent cerebration the demented woman finally responded; weaving a slightly more substantial fabrication which could justify her return to the restroom.
Hull for his part continued to smile and nod his head idly, waiting for a moment to once again offer the girl his blade; he understood the therapeutic value one could derive from quotidian macabre bloodshed after all and he possessed no desire to detain the girl from her current task. Indeed he was doing what he could to ease and encourage her upon the path she had chosen, after all New York was a big place, it could use a few more interesting individuals with perspectives similar to his own.
Before the sinister wanderer could utter his reassurances and once again proffer his bladed instrument however the conversation was abruptly suspended as the self announced manager of the establishment ventured forth to inquire as to the state of the female restroom. Once the condition of the establishment had been conveyed and the ponderous dunce convinced of his own general ineptitude in life as well as plumbing the odd ingénue turned back to the demented traveler once more, her amber eyes flitting back briefly to the manager as she tracked his location before swiftly shifting back to her original target, her silent gaze focused upon the Argus blade balanced upon a silver tipped palm which had yet to stir.
‘And here I though I’d found another predator, yet instead I am greeted with a sheep in wolf’s clothing… what a pity, still I suppose she might provide a suitable distraction if nothing else.’
With an artificial grin adorning his fallaciously benevolent features the sadistic foreigner casually rose from his seat, one hand sweeping an idle trail over the metallic shaving he had generated seconds earlier, causing the metallic confetti to vanish a moment later. Hulls other hand gently placed the coveted switch blade atop the Formica countertop between himself and the clearly disturbed woman.
“I’ll just leave this here, all this talk of fluids seems to have made an impression, so if you don’t mind I shall have to step away for a while.”
Striding away without a backwards glance the morbid traveler moved languidly down to the end of diner, tossing the anxious looking manager a genial wave as he entered the shallow alcove which housed the entrance to both restrooms. Without pausing his pace Hull nonchalantly wandered into the male restroom and, after ensuring the room lacked any other occupants, quickly barred the door with a conveniently placed wooden wedged designed to act as a door stop.
It was high time someone caused a little disorder…
The room itself verily was nothing special; a simple collection of, porcelain, metal and plastic which one could easily find within any other construct. It truly would have been a crime to leave the room as it was; it had craved a new look, an extra character which, fortuitously, Hull happened to have in excess. A quick snap of the fingers had conjured the bloody apron the ex soldier had used mere minutes earlier, a swift clap of the hands soon followed, summoning one of the three cadavers the sadistic wanderer currently had in storage. A final snap had echoed through the air, revealing a back up blade which, although classed as a knife, would have put a machete to shame.
'Decisions decisions, should I start with the legs or the lungs? The foot or the femur? Screw it I'll just look for the funny bone.'
-- ‘Whistle while you work.’ ‘Manslaughter has its perks.’ ‘For with each death there’s such a mess it simply can’t be left. ‘So grab the nearest tool.’ ‘It won’t take long when there’s a song to help you set the pace.’
‘And as you hack the corpse. ‘Think of all the many ways the hull can be displayed. ‘And soon you'll find you're dancing to the tune…’ --
Barely 5 minutes had passed since Hull had crossed the threshold into the quaint/quotidian restroom maintained by the diner. Indeed before the twisted wanderers long overdue decorating session one could argue that the room had been far too plain.
There was little chance of such a claim now; streaks of scarlet fluid stained the previously alabaster floor tiles, slowly flowing down the room natural gradient. The true display though was nestled away in the last stall at the far corner of the lavatory where the crimson current of blood was at its thickest. The remnants of what could still, technically, be called a corpse was situated upon the open ceramic bowl, the cadavers hands had been severed at the wrists contributing greatly to the trickling cascade of crimson blood which now smeared the floor. The legs sported multiple puncture and lacerations some of which went down the bone, the most eye catching sight however would undoubtedly be the carcasses lower torso which had been roughly eviscerated and the majority of the entrails removed and cast about the stall as some obscene form of decoration, most notably upon the back wall of the stall which now sported a crude smiley face crafted from what appeared to be the victims intestines. The macabre depiction had been placed at precisely the eye level of the desecrated corpse as though to make up for its lack of a head. Still whistling his perverse tune the killer calmly washed his hands in a nearby sink, watching idly as the crimson streams swiftly lost their hue. Hull was both pleased and disappointed that his session had passed without interruption; his satisfaction arose because he had been allowed to work in peace for once, a luxury he was not always able to enjoy. His discontent stemmed from the fact that he would now be unable to view the initial reaction to his art which, typically, were just as entertaining if not more so then the work itself.
It was time to move on though he had other things which needed doing; there were still many people left to maim and a vast array of structures to be destroyed after all. Still it wouldn’t hurt to check on the demented neophyte he had encountered a few minutes ago, she had shown some semblance of promise if nothing else, that and he still needed to retrieve his knife.
Taking care to vanish his scarlet apron before stepping outside the twisted wandered ventured calmly out of the male restroom before pausing in the alcove which housed the entrance to both bathrooms. He would scan the diner briefly and if he failed to spot the deranged woman he would enter the female restroom just to his left in hopes of finding her there.
An unamused chuckle shook the killers shoulders as he molded his features into an affectation of amiability whilst continuing his charade of hacking coughs. “That’s a little harsh *cough* don’t you think? I prefer the term differently sane, *cough* political correctness and all that.” The travelers tone conveyed the same genial mien as his current visage as he slowly began to straighten once more.
"And you need help."[/color]
“I hear what you’re saying but henchmen are a little too cliché these days, and have you seen the rates some of them want? Hell one guy actually wanted dental! I had to spend a good ten minutes educating him about expenses before I finally pointed out that dental would be a little redundant for someone who’d lost all their teeth.”
With his back still facing the ghostly girl the sadistic wanderer covered his brow with one hand weakly shook his head in a theatrical show of despair as he slowly descended into another artificial coughing fit and casually pivoted on one foot to face his intended victim
"I am not dead and nothing you do will make it so."[/color]
“Oh don’t say that, at the very least I’m certain I can maim you, maybe take an arm and leg; the reaper must get his dues after all.”
‘Witty dialog, an exceedingly undervalued asset. All too often it proved to be both a memorable trait and a cause of annoyance for many characters, causing the vast majority to forsake it, relegating it to the ever growing chamber of cliché’s. In spite of its modest failings however wit still has a place in the world, obscure though it may be, and scarcity had only served to increase the its worth. Still though, there shall always be those who possess no appreciation for the finer things in life, asinine assesses who refuse to adequately appreciate that which they witnessed.’
‘It is a most oppressive state of affairs, and over the years I have discovered that the only cure is the one which is always within my grasp, that which relieves all ailments, removes all sensation, emotion and thought. The sweet kiss, always accepting and never judging; I have yet to encounter a soul which can reject the reapers embrace.’
‘Even the witless waif before me cannot escape, she can only postpone.’
Such were the thoughts of the demented killer as his sterling claws gouged the spectral woman’s insubstantial torso, etching four parallel strokes of argent air into the female ghosts form. The moment they had been cast the sinister marks began to bleed ethereal fluids, gradually trickling down the ashen gamines figure before dripping away and dissipating into nihility. Apart from the altered physical state it was no different from any other wound the malevolent wanderer had seen or bestowed. Despite receiving what, by all means, must have been an utterly agonizing wound the senseless specter neither retreated nor recoiled. Instead she simply returned an odd stare, her vaporous visage adopting a vague expression which could have been anything from scorn to dread.
Before the morbid anarchist could remark upon such failings in the girls body language however an unseen force streamed towards him, racing into his personal space, pivoting at unknown point as it swung upward and struck the foreigner in the jaw with the force of a hammer. Any ill placed witticisms were cut before they even began as the mans entire head was jerked backwards, the blow forcing him to the balls of his feet, displacing his centre of gravity just in time for secondary strike. This follow up assault adroitly cut Hulls legs out from below as his mind was still processing the initial attack, by the time the macabre traveler had come to terms with what had happened his body was already in descent, his arm instinctively moving to soften fall. Once again however the demented bomber was caught… off balance so to speak, as an unearthly gale howled into being, surging though the tenebrous confines of the gothic business the torrent of air collided with the dazed wanderer with the grace of a semi truck.
The wind propelled him effortlessly across the length of the store, heedless of the racks and mannequins which followed in its wake. The uncivilized squall possessed a single objective, and that was to eject its occupant as swiftly as possible, this it accomplished with rather crude efficiency; launching its bothersome burden through the only available exit.
For the world outside the dreary establishment the populace remained blissfully unaware of the morbid events taking place only a few meters away. Their trifling lives had already borne witness to one macabre this day and many believed they would not experience another. Such fanciful delusions were ruthlessly shattered the moment a certain Canadian bomber crashed through one of the many storefront windows and into the middle of a bustling downtown street. The airborne figure collided with the tarmac roughly, his entire body jolting as he impacted against the solid surface with glass confetti raining down around. Hulls body skidded across the road a good five feet, passing through one lane and then entering another until his form finally came to rest.
SCREEEEECH![/i]
Before a crowd could even begin to gather around the quiescent figure lying within the middle of the road an earsplitting squeal sliced through the air in a manner similar to blade through flesh. Rubber burned against tarmac generating a scalding heat which scorched the road with twin streaks of obsidian tar as tires desperately sought to gain some form of hold on the surface beneath them. Physics is not a kind mistress however and the unfortunate vehicle bearing down upon the prone figure was brought ever closer, far past any line of comfort, until the onyx bumper was practically above the mans head, the wheels poised to crush his inert form and surrounding figures holding their breath as they waited for the blow to fall…
It never came, the white van, for indeed that was vehicle in question, had managed to halt barely an inch from the apparently comatose form beneath it. A collective sigh of relief was released as the driver hunched over the wheel, attempting to steady his breath as he dealt with the sudden influx of adrenaline and other hormones within his system. For those residing upon the walkways however it was as though a spell had been broken for they rushed towards the unexpected site en mass.
“Oh-oh my god!”
“Did you see that? Right out the window!”
“What happened? Is he still alive?”
“I don’t know, somebody better call the paramedics”
“Oi! He’s moving!”
Hull was indeed regaining his basic motor functions, compared to the rest of his body the mans skull had only suffered minor damage at best, yet this did not detract from the influx of pain that he was receiving from various nerves throughout his body, quite the contrary actually the sensation was enhanced, piercing though his clouded mind like a drill from the heavens. Full cognition returned swiftly and it took little effort for the sinister traveler to discern his current state, the smashed window in front of him was quite the giveaway, as was the bumper mere inches from his nose.
Although not entirely certain about the events which had led up to his current predicament the Canadian tourist was not one to let circumstances hamper him unduly. There was always something which could be turned to ones advantage if they looked hard enough. In this particular case there multiple clouds with a veritable array of silver linings; for one thing he did not seem to have suffered any broken bones, major contusions yes, along with a sharp pain in his back but it was nothing he hadn’t endured before. Secondly if one were to judge from the tones of those nearby it would seem as though the crowd had placed him within the role of victim, an assumption which could easily work in his favour, provided he were careful. All in all things were not above redemption, for now though it would be best to play upon the sympathies of the crowd.
Raising himself suddenly Hull shifted angled his skull so that it would collide soundly with the bumper of the van directly above, impacting in such a way that the blow would appear worse than it was. “Son of a b*tch” The expletive left the malevolent wanderers mouth with a healthy foundation of apparent anger as the anarchists right hand snapped up to cradle his bruised cranium, causing all those watching to wince, either physically or mentally, as they unwittingly sympathized with the stranger before them, natural curiosity turning their thoughts to the questions of how this had come to be…
“Crazy mutie bitch,” The words echoed easily through the air, a talent the ex-solider had achieved early in his career and which had aided him in obtaining his stripes; good communication was a cornerstone of any leader after all. “try to help and this the thanks I get?” Hull staggered out from under the van as though drunk, easily adopting the mannerisms of one suffering from a concussion. He raised himself to his feet in an unsteady, off balance motion; an action mastered through years of inebriety. The move caused no small amount of unrest within the crowd, with many spectators and good Samaritans urging him to lie back down rest. Such advice however was ignored as he stumbled up to his full height, a hand snaking out to balance him against the hood of the ivory van while the other reached behind to his back and gently palmed the sore area between his shoulder blades feeling the shredded texture of his hoody. ‘The hell?’
A few seconds later the traveler had managed to shed, albeit somewhat awkwardly, his worn navy blue sweatshirt. The anarchist’s hands shifted the material idly, twisting it so that he could examine the back which had essentially been sliced to ribbons by the minute shards of glass which had become trapped beneath him as he had scarped across the road. “Completely ruined my hoody..” The tone was far more subdued by this point barely more than a murmur as bomber stared at the ruined article in his hands, his energy appearing to desert him as his head raised and viridian eyes stared forward unseeing. The image such behaviour generated was that of a man disoriented, completely at a loss for what to do next, in reality however the wanderer was actively searching for his lost prey; utilizing his peripheral vision to its fullest by preventing his emerald eyes from focusing on any one object.
‘Heh, run run as fast as you can, you can’t lose me I’m you’re local madman.’
The demented rhyme sailed through the macabre wanderer’s mindscape as his jaded gaze abruptly sharpened, fixating upon a distorted patch of air surrounding a limp figure just as it rounded a street corner which led to the original blast zone and numerous medical vehicles surrounding it.
“H-hey buddy, are you all right? I didn’t hit ya did I? You just came flying out of nowhere.” [/color]
The van driver had finally taken command of senses and exited his transport, his beady eyes taking a moment to assess any signs of damage on the front of his vehicle before rapidly turning to the apparent victim of this entire scenario, taking note of the ex-soldiers somewhat pale skin and the swiftly developing bruise across his forehead. The driver swallowed once, attempting to quell the rising anxiety in his gut as he frantically thought for a means to deal with this unexpected situation.
“Uh, listen you should probably get someone to look at you, I can take you to the nearest hospital…”[/color]
Hull blinked, his attention abruptly being drawn back to the present as his mind rapidly processed the motorists words and a spark of malevolent joy lit the anarchists emerald eyes, causing the driver to subconsciously retreat and take one step backwards. “A hospital? You think I’m daft?!” the words were spat with no small amount of venom as the former soldier advanced upon the shorter, rather hapless, autoist. “You just f*ckin hit me with a van! I ain’t going anywhere until I get witnesses and your details. Who the hell do you work for anyway?”
Shoving the portly driver roughly to the side Hull strode past him without a second glance, his legs taking swift sweeping strides towards the back of the van. A colourful logo splashed against the side of the vehicle caught his attention but was quickly dismissed after a cursory look failed to reveal any enlightening information. “Rags to Riches? The hell does that mean?” a growl of frustration escaped his lips as he continued onwards and quickly came to the double doors which marked the rear of the vehicle. Silver tipped hands shot outwards, their fingers curling around the handles, while one brushed lightly against the locking mechanism..
“H-hey what do you think you’re doing?! That’s commercial merchandise that is!”[/color]
It seemed the unfortunate driver actually possessed a spine, either that or a complete lack of common sense, it was somewhat difficult to be certain at this stage. What was clear however was that the motorist was advancing towards the twisted anarchist with an expression outrage scrawled across his pudgy features, a visage which was swiftly evaporated under the mildly menacing glare Hull delivered in response. “Listen here friend. You just rammed me with this sorry excuse of a van, a fact which doesn’t sit to well with me, so why don’t you just shut up and back the f*ck away for both our sakes huh?”
Having been suitably shaken by the thinly veiled threat the portly autoist backed up once again until he was level with the middle of his vehicle before turning round a sharing a despairing look with the surrounding crowd, many of whom responded with glances of puzzlement and apprehension. This was not the type of behaviour one expected from a wounded individual, even he were suffering from a concussion. As with most crowds however they are nothing without a ringleader, and thus no one stepped forward, or even inquired as to what was going on.
Hull meanwhile had already thrown open the vans doors, giving voice to a snide remark about the vehicles poor quality as he stepped within its shaded confines, a mixture of surprise and unholy glee as he gazed at the items before him. “Rags to Riches” it would seem was a costume business, one which covered quite a wide range of genres if the selection contained here were any indication. There was pirate attire, ninja body suits complete with plastic swords, cartons of face paint, off towards the back however were three separate manikins, each donning a different set of raiment’s. The first supported a obsidian leather trench coat with matching onyx shades which were not dissimilar those portrayed in a popular virtual reality film, the second model was garbed in what was perhaps the most bizarre collection of attire the sadistic traveler had seen yet; it was a purple three piece suit, crafted from materials which were not overly expensive but cheap either. The final manikin though was adorned with what was perhaps the most eye catching set for it brought into question precisely what type of customers “Rags to Riches” served. The costume was in essence a French maid uniform, that much was clear, it possessed all the appropriate lace, frills and other components yet the costume was so sheer that practically nothing was left to the imagination.
“Land of opportunity indeed.” A minor chuckle accompanied these words as Hull swiftly vanished his deplorable sweatshirt, thereby leaving his hands free to…appropriate whatever merchandise he desired, a process which took all of five seconds given his unique talents. After his inventory had been partially restocked though the sinister traveler swiftly shifted his intention back to his initial aim; specifically the drivers seat which was separated from the cargo area only by a polymer thinner than the bombers finger. Thus it was only fifteen seconds after he had first entered the vehicle that Hull found himself adorned in a new leather trench coat, seated behind the vans somewhat grimy steering wheel with the keys already ignition, even better was the fact that vehicle lacked any form of stick shift, thereby designating it as an automatic.
Approximately ten seconds after getting behind the wheel Hull had already fired up the engine, engaged the van in drive mod and caused quite a commotion to contiguous bystanders as he sped off down the road after his fleeing prey. The demented killer’s foot never even had to touch the accelerator for the pedal had already been weighted down to the floor by a conveniently placed chunk of ruby iron which had previously been part of a fire hydrant. Thus the van continued to gain speed as its twisted driver rounded the corner in pursuit of his target, mounting the pavement momentarily to avoid oncoming traffic in favor of striking unwitting pedestrians before once more swerving back onto the tarmac and charging headlong towards the collection of emergency service vehicles and their operators, some of which had already managed to recognize the impending threat.
In all truth the former soldier would have preferred to focus his imminent collision on the white haired femme he still hoped to inhume, however given that her current physical state made her rather difficult to spot from a distance the sadistic wanderer had rapidly come to the conclusion that general destruction would be more practical than attempting to ferret her out by site alone.
Mere seconds before the van was set to impact with one of the many emergency vehicles surrounding initial blast zone Hull flung open the drivers door and hurriedly threw himself out of the vehicle and onto a crowded full of individuals attempting to flee the scene of yet another ‘accident’. A resounding crash greeted the anarchists ears moments later as alabaster van collided with stationary ambulance and the two metal monstrosities careered into other surrounding vehicles.
Within the artificially amiable atmosphere of the Rusted Maw more than a few nervous customers had begun to take notice of a certain individuals impromptu arts and crafts session. Hull himself however remained blissfully ignorant of the anxious stares which were sent his way; the traveling sadist had become far too enthralled in his signature carving. Under the guidance of his jaded eyes the tip of blade cut swiftly and evenly into the casing of each bullet, etching the same three letters every time, leaving the metallic shavings to collect in a gradually growing mound atop the otherwise sanitary counter.
‘You know, I should’ve brought a magnet, then I could’ve thrown these in a microwave and had my own little light show… I wonder if they have a nuker in this place?’
So intent upon his current activity and mental musings the morbid wanderer barely took any notice of the distressed and somewhat awkward female who stumbled into the bathroom. This in itself was something of an oddity for the malevolent traveler for under other circumstances his focus would have shifted to the poor woman in a shot. The mentally disturbed were sources of almost unlimited entertainment; their minds were unhinged, wavering over the precipice between sanity and lunacy. They simply required an appropriate impetus to commit them to the latter. After that well, it was almost akin to a firework; you lit the fuse, pointed it at some unsuspecting bystander, and got ready for a good show.
As it was though Hull was engaged in a far more vital activity, having lost most of his possessions in an improbable explosion at Times Square the Canadian tourist had been forced to pick up his latest firearm and ammo second hand meaning neither had his personal touch. Considering his personal hobbies such anonymity was completely unacceptable! What if he were to be called away from the playground in the middle of a game? How was he supposed to keep a reliable count? There wasn’t always time to collect ears, especially with some of his more unique kills as more often then not his targets were left without a head…
In either case the point of this little carving exercise was to allow the appropriate authorities a means to accurately track of his achievements and, more importantly, to prevent any epigones from claiming any of his cadavers. Kill stealers were a pestilence upon the world, both the physical and virtual.
A vociferous din abruptly issued forth from the female restroom, shattering any pretense of pleasant family dining as all within the diner but outside the bathroom in question craned their necks towards the room in question as though their silent stares might derive some form of explanation. Even the diners’ homicidal tourist had temporarily abandoned his etchings to glance speculatively at the inert door, his emerald gaze sharpening as echoes of hysteric laughter reached his ears.
‘Hmm, the pitch is a touch high, yet it’s made 80% of these sheep cringe… I’ll give it a 9/10’
It was about this moment in time that a somewhat ragged figure stumbled out of the bathroom which had attracted so much attention. The strange character staggered about slightly as though she were drunk before spouting off some quip about gravity and an excuse regarding wet floors. What truly caught the sadistic travelers attention though was that, despite the woman’s claims her attire seemed exceptionally dry, only the sleeves of her garments displayed any streaks of moisture thereby making her allegations rather dubious at best. The absurdity of the situation however did not end there, for the awkward female did not demurely return to seat as most individuals would have, no that would have been far too simple, not too mention boring. Instead the demented woman actually New York’s resident bomber and inquired as to whether she might borrow his blade to cut a loose thread on her blouse, a thread which, by all appearances did not seem to exist…
It was a most bizarre situation, an utter abnormality and it entertained Hull to no end. This was different, this was new, this was interesting! An all too rare commodity in today’s world, and one which the morbid wanderer intended to enjoy to it’s fullest. Already the mismatched gears within his skull had begun turning, twisting his thoughts back into reminiscence as he replayed his memories of the past few minutes. A sinister grin gradually crept over his features as he recalled the blonde haired waitress who had entered the bathroom shortly after the odd female before him and the fascinating crash which had occurred shortly after… “Why of course ma’am, I’d be utterly delighted to assist” The switch blade was idly twirled between argent fingers for the briefest of moments before suddenly snapping shut and falling into the wanderers open palm which was then freely offered to the demented girl before him. “If I might ask though, is this a thread which must be cut in the privacy of a bathroom?”
--
((OOC: My apologies for the delay and somewhat tame response, I shall endeavor to do better in the future.))
‘Sometime I wonder, I truly do, whether I alone have fully grasped the understanding of subsistence; you see life is nothing more than a colossal joke, artfully designed to mock those who seek some form of purpose to their miserable existence. Provided you possess the drive to accomplish it you can do anything, for nothing in life actually matters. I myself am a testament to this fundamental truth.’
‘Despite such persuasive evidence however the vast majority of humanity chooses to remain ignorant, holding fast to their flawed beliefs of order and peace. I do my best to educate them, I truly do, however I am only one man. Still, I remain undaunted and shall perform as needed to spread the good word, if only to alleviate my boredom.’
Out upon the streets of New York emergency vehicles continued to stream towards the source of the improbably explosion. Their high pitched sirens screeching endlessly as they did so, drawing greater numbers of individuals to the blast site and away from the shops which lined the streets. If however a particularly inquisitive or opportunistic individual were to wander away from the crowds, down a certain side street and over the threshold of an apparently desolate business they might, perhaps, perceive a sudden scrabbling sound on the very edges of their hearing. Should the curious customer choose to investigate this most unusual sound their search would lead them towards the rear of the tenebrous boutique, past racks of gothic raiment’s and around the multitude of faceless manikins they would unearth a most unsettling sight.
A demented grin monopolized the morbid travelers features as he tightened his grasp upon the leather strap, his arms tensing as they bore the slight weight of the silver haired sylph, dragging her upwards in a gradual but unceasing motion. The girls feet had already been lifted from the unswept floor of the tenebrous establishment, an event which instilled further panic into the young woman as she flailed her lower limbs in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure around her throat, causing her waste what precious energy she had left. Drawing a steady breath and swiftly closing his viridian eyes Hull’s attention shifted to his other senses, determined to enjoy this moment to its fullest. He reveled in the gamines loss of power, savoring her slowly diminishing struggles as her small writhed against his own, relished in each empty gasp as her lungs vainly attempted to draw breath.
It had been far too long since he had last heard such sweet music. It was truly sublime, and as such the child deserved an aria of her own, it would only be fair after all.
Shifting the ends of his makeshift noose to his left hand the malevolent wanderer briefly tested his grip before reaching his right arm up to the pale woman’s head. Silver fingertips softly caressed the alabaster hair in an uncharacteristically gentle motion, the strange episode past swiftly however as the hand abruptly ceased its deceiving and swiftly clawed at the ivory strands; grasping them in a harsh fist. The moment this new hand hold had been secured the foreign bomber wrenched the woman’s head backwards; straining her neck to the fullest as it bent over the killers shoulder and drew her ears closer to the demented man’s lips.
“Hush little baby don’t say a word, For your last screams won’t be heard, Hail me father for I am sin, Once again I’ve killed your-”
The sinister rhyme came to an unexpected halt as an ironic role reversal overtook the macabre traveler; the breath within his lungs suddenly ceasing its flow as it came under an alien influence which relentlessly dragged all air from the man’s body, causing his lungs to slowly contract and collapse in on themselves. Emerald eyes shot open, darting frantically from side to side as their owner sought for some sign of his assailant. Hulls stance faltered for a moment and his grasp upon the leather noose slipped slightly, however this was not the first time someone had attempted to asphyxiate the former soldier and his mind had always worked well under stress. Already the wanderer’s feet had repositioned themselves to restore balance and his left had managed to renew its grasp upon the leather thong before his victim could draw a second breath
‘Aww ain’t that cute, the little girl wants’ to share. It’s enough to make ya choke, it really is. However someone needs to teach her that it ain’t polite to refuse a gift.’
It was with that final though that Hull brought his right hand to bear once more once more upon his victims head, intending to twist and snap the females frail neck, however mere moments before his fingers made contact the gamines slender form vanished, her slight weight evaporating from the travelers shoulders causing him to once more lose his balance and stumble forward in an effort to regain it. At the exact same second the ex soldier found himself capable of breathing once again and his lungs desperately inhaled, filling themselves to capacity before exhaling and repeating the process.
"What do you want?"[/color]
‘So the bitch wants to stay and play, oh goody.’
Seeing no need to shift his position immediately the morbid traveler kept his back to his intended and allowed himself a moment to regain his composure, masking the action with a sudden and fictitious coughing which had him bending his legs and bracing one hand against a knee while the other struck his chest. The overly dramatic show lasted only a few seconds at most but it was all the time Hull needed to reorient himself and summon a new blade before slowly pivoting on one foot to face his prey.
“*cough* Geez, they oughta package you health warning, I almost coughed up a kidney and let me tell you tha- the hell?”
The macabre wanderer paused in mid rant as his jade eyes took in the apparition before him, this was most certainly not what the former soldier had been expecting. He had been anticipating a slender female, shaking with a combination of fear and partial asphyxiation, possibly in a collapsed heap upon the floor. Instead the obdurate killer was confronted with an ethereal apparition who seemed to lack any and all substance. Indeed he could straight through her, it was somewhat distracting.
Upon realizing that he had lost his train of thought however the sinister bomber once more adopted his moronic façade, waving his free hand across his eyes repeatedly as he stared in disbelief at the woman before him. “Whoa, I can see dead people…” A sudden flick of the wrist caused Hulls other hand to snap forward and release switch blade it had been carrying, causing the weapon to rotate through the air and pass harmlessly through the pale phantoms midriff.
“Yep, definitely a dead person” The macabre traveler nodded wisely to himself as he walked forward slowly, one hand stroking his chin while the other grasped the elbow of the first. Although the bomber had adopted an almost comical old sage visage his viridian eyes remained cold as he approach his victim, various thoughts flying through his mind as he attempted to discern how best to handle this latest development.
Halting just within arms reach of the spectral girl Hull stared up into her transparent eyes, before speaking in a falsely jovial tone, “Well I had initially intended to simply strangle you to death, I hadn’t done it a while you see and it is a rather effective manner of relieving stress. Now that you seem to be without form however I am at something of a loss although I suppose there is one thing I could try...”
Before the words had even ceased to flow from his lips The ex soldiers lower arm had shot outwards his hand assuming a clawing gesture as it raked through the ghosts lower abdomen, argent finger almost glittering as they actively absorbed everything they touched be it simple air or otherwise.
As the streets of the New York gradually accumulated their late night traffic various individuals could be seen proceeding casually down the concrete causeway’s which lined the endless trails of tarmac. Alone or in groups these every day, mediocre citizens continued on, utterly oblivious to the sinister events currently being staged in one of the many tenebrous alley’s scattered throughout the concrete jungle.
’Ah New York at night! The prostitutes are plying, the drunkards crudely crying and the innocent slowly dying… Have I mentioned how much I love this city? If not I then I have been grossly negligent in my duties as a tourist and guest to this magnificent monstrosity of mayhem. You may find my words suspect and I will not doubt you for that; I myself had heard ample rumours concerning the city’s ill mannered populace, however allow me to assure you that such claims are completely unfounded. Why earlier this evening I engaged a trio of fine young men in a shaded alley, upon expressing to them my curiosity as to which section of human anatomy would create the best belt/necklace they practically leapt over one another in their eagerness to assist.‘
‘It truly was most delightful.’
Emerging from the nebulous shadows of the alley in a blasé and carefree manner Hull’s feet froze in midstride a few feet from the main paving as his viridian eyes glanced down at his current apparel. The travelers typical accoutrement of jeans and a hoody were presently out of view, obscured by a floor length scarlet apron which even now was slowly adding colour to the dull grey floor. “Oh dear, this simply will not do” The murmured comment was addressed to no one yet the wanderer titled his head moment later as though awaiting a response, after another second had passed though the man’s left hand had risen to his chest, silver fingers just barely making contact with the damp garment before it abruptly vanished without a trace. “Forget my own head if it weren’t screwed on… good thing I picked up some spares.”
After another cursory glance at his form assured the itinerant butcher that his appearance was indeed appropriate Hull idle pace swiftly resumed as he exited the alley, joining the public walkway and the gradually growing crowds, all the while whistling a strangely cheerful tune which earned him the occasional odd glance from passersby. Such looks however only encouraged the wander to continue his little act as he folded his arms behind his back and allowed his jaded gaze to scan the line of shops in search of an establishment to sate his newly discovered hunger, his eyes eventually alighting upon a charming little diner entitled “The Rusted Maw”.
Once again the jingle of a solitary bell echoed above ambient background music as the diner’s entrance swung open to admit its latest customer before silently falling back into place. Hull himself was in little rush and so took a moment to simply gaze around the all the but desolate eatery, his emerald eyes sweeping over and every surface as he sought for anything of interest or beyond the norm. Upon finding nothing however the travelers cheerful demeanor diminished somewhat though he still maintained an eerily pleasant grin as he sauntered up to the main counter and seated himself atop one of the many stools.
“Could I get you something sir?”[/color]
Shifting his focus to the timely young waitress before him Alex permitted his eyes to trail down her body once before flitting back to her eyes, his uncanny grin drifting not a jot as he waved away the proffered menu and worded his response. “Good evening, I was wondering if I might trouble you for a BLT, served on a baguette if possible?”
The order was swiftly noted down and the waitress dismissed so that she might convey her patrons choice to the chef. Once left to his own devices though Hull swiftly became bored and his thoughts diverged as he cast about for something with which to idle away the time until his meal might arrive. A few moments of chaotic contemplations passed, accompanied by much tsking[/i] and finger drumming before at last the wanderers thoughts arrived at a viable consensus, the effect of which was immediately noticeable for any chose to observe. Initially having slumped somewhat in his seat the sadistic travelers posture quickly correct itself, this was hastily followed by a sudden rummaging of pockets before the morbid man at last withdrew an onyx oblong from the recesses of his hoody.
The strange rectangular item swiftly revealed itself to a standard magazine housing a number of 10mm cartridges. One of these was rapidly worked free from casing with a subtle plink as the spring mechanism within the magazine released its hold upon the bullet and allowed the projectile to fall into the travelers waiting hand. A second later a switch blade appeared in the foreigners other hand before he bent over the countertop and carefully started to scratch away at the shells casing with the tip of his blade.
The initial chaos crafted from the blaze of the first unexpected explosion had all but died by this point, a fact which caused a certain amount of irritation to the obdurate anarchist as his footsteps beat a steady rhythm into the rapidly darkening concrete. Police and firefighters had finally arrived in sufficient numbers to adequately combat the minor inferno and remove civilians from the hazard zone. Once again order was swiftly being imposed upon chaos without thought.
’People these days possess no appreciation for art.’
Water splashed the surrounding surfaces as the morbid wanderer proceeded unhindered towards his intended target. The sudden surge of water from the crimson hydrant had persuaded many of the oblivious bystanders to shift themselves from the bombers path as they moved to higher and dryer ground, once the vitreous liquid had reached the animated electrical currents though even the most obstinate of individuals had been convinced that relocation to alternative avenues would be in their best interests; which was yet another act adding to the macabre travelers accumulating annoyance. The voltage contained within the electrical lines should have possessed enough current to fry a bear yet the contiguous crowds had suffered no more that a negligible jolt. It would cause a jump sure enough, but as for lasting damage there would be no heart stoppers, no overloaded nerves and most certainly no deaths.
‘Consider; how many other individuals, with the same materials available to them, could achieve such a vivid and resplendent panorama of pandemonium?’
Approaching the flimsy yellow banner barrier the police had created to cordon off the perceived danger zone Hull’s pace remained constant as he deftly ducked beneath the yellow tape, his viridian gaze still fixated upon the slender woman whose own eyes were now focused on the thrashing electrical wires which, mere seconds later, were severed from their source by an unseen blade. The unnatural sight made the sinister wanderer pause momentarily; caused him to reevaluate his intended approach and it was during this momentary lull that one of the many police officers at last took notice of the outsider in their midst.
“Sir, I’ll have to ask that you step back behind the line for your own safety.”[/color]
‘Verily I should be praised for my ingenuity and ability to alleviate society from it stale and spoiled subsistence,'
An irritated glare shot across the bombers features as he glanced at the presumptive officer, his left hand quickly dipping into the empty recess of his jeans back pocket before rapidly withdrawing a leather item which had not resided there five seconds ago. Nimbly flicking open the wallet so that his thumb concealed the photo section of the ID the irascible traveler flashed the insensate officer a brief glimpse of an authenticate police badge before swiftly closing the leather fold once again and apparently placing it back into his jeans pocket.
“Sergeant Holmes,” The fabricated name left the anarchists lips with absolutely no hesitation, decorated with an Irish inflection which would have put many Gaelic descendants to shame. “I’m stationed downtown. This was meant to be my day off but fat chance of that now.” A thumb was jerked over the travelers shoulder in the pale gamines direction. “I’m gonna get that mutie outta here, she mighta helped but the longer she lingers the more paperwork we’ll have to do.”
With his curt comment thus delivered the impatient wander shrugged off the hand which had been placed upon his shoulder before striding once more towards his intended prey. The ignorant ingénue had by this stage managed to drastically reduce the area’s over all lethality and had therefore moved on to aiding any unfortunate souls she happened to stumble across. Currently the guileless gamine was performing what appeared to be some asinine form of CPR on one of the many burn victims in the area, however the women was either squeamish or purely ignorant of the proper procedure for she was failing to apply mouth to mouth to her swiftly fading patient.
yet instead my efforts are dismantled, desecrated and dismissed before they can even begin to take root.’
“Hey, let me give you a hand.” With the Irish accent now absent from his tone Hull quickly slid up beside the woman’s comatose patient, catching the man’s free arm and swinging it around his own shoulders so that the limp body was now supported on both sides. This maneuver also allowed the malicious bomber to place his own hand atop the pale females own, grasping her forearm tightly under the pretense of offering more support. “I know a med student who works around here, could really help this guy out. Come on.”
Without waiting for the girl to respond Hull proceeded to all but drag the two bodies away from the scene of the blast, putting distance between them and the crowds as they rounded a corner and approached a largely tenebrous and desolate clothing outlet. Drawing his victim and her patient over the threshold and among the racks of gothic apparel they were met with an astonished gaze from the stores proprietor, a heavily pierced and overweight individual, who simply stared open mouthed at the site before him as the trio approached the counter.
“What the hell are you staring for? You’ve got a first aid haven’t you? Go get it!” The travelers tone had become fierce towards the end and owner had not possessed the nerve to refuse or ask questions, opting instead to merely comply with the sudden commands as he slipped through a back door into a storage area without a backwards glance.
‘Such single mindedness cannot be allowed to fester.’
“Dammit John!” The exclamation was barked loud enough for all nearby to hear before abruptly quieting. “You could at least keep the door open for us.”
Releasing an easily identifiable growl of irritation the wanderer motioned for his victim to lower the body to the floor at the far left of the counter, purposefully hidden from the establishment’s entrance by manikins and racks of clothing. Once that had been accomplished the traveler swiftly drew himself back to his full height before vaulting over the wooden counter and pausing at the back door, glancing back briefly at the snow haired woman, a false expression of concern marring his countenance.
“I’m gonna have a quick word with John, he doesn’t usually freeze up like that and I want to know why.”
Darting into the back room before the girl could argue Hull quickly lost any appearance of apprehension as he stalked down the dimly lit rows of shelving, his emerald eyes shifting swiftly between any breaks in the rows of packaging as he searched for any signs of movement or telltale echoes of footsteps; he couldn’t afford to have another variable running around considering the potentially lethal capabilities of his intended quarry. “We don’t have all day you know!”
“This ain’t exactly a hospital bub.”[/color]
Snapping his neck in the direction of the voice the morbid traveler rapidly closed in on the unwitting proprietor, a hand vanishing behind his broad back as a predatory grin flashed across his features…
‘It must be removed, eradicated, otherwise it shall spread with impunity.’
--
Cleaning his crimson blade upon the dusty trouser leg of the city’s most recent corpse Hull spent a moment or two idly going through the cadavers pockets, turning out all the things one would expect to find amongst another belongings; keys, wallet, cell phone, even a multipurpose pocket knife. All of these were quietly appropriated and added to the sadistic thief’s rapidly growing assets. After everything of value had been taken a few precious seconds were spent dragging the carcass into a darkened corner in order to delay discovery for as long as possible, once that had been accomplished though the morbid bomber quickly backtracked to the store front, running perhaps faster than was normal so as to avoid any suspicion regarding his absence on the part of his next victim.
“John wants us to bring him round back, he’s got a table we can set him on.”
Bursting through the door with a more than adequate sense of haste Hull once again vaulted over the polished countertop, landing deftly upon the balls of his feet as he pivoted, turning back to face the counter briefly as his fingers flicked open a metal latch which allowed a section of the counter to swing inwards.
“Come on, pick him up, we need to get moving.”
Waiting until the white haired ingénue had bent down to start lifting her comatose burden the sadistic traveler swiftly slipped around and behind the unaware girl as though moving to grab the unconscious mans other side. Once at the woman's back however the wanders hands flexed, a stolen purse abruptly appearing in their grasp, a second later the fingers on his right hand twitched slightly and the malicious bomber was left holding only the purse strap. Hull's predatory grin surfaced once again as his emerald eyes narrowed dangerously for his arms had moved to thread the thin strap around the unwitting gamine’s neck. Should he succeed the two ends would rapidly be drawn tight and the sinister wander would pivot on his feet so that his back faced her own before bending at the waist, thereby giving him the leverage he required to slowly choking the life from the girl.
‘Humanity is fortunate indeed that I am willing to provide such a service.’
The sheer concussive force of the explosion was more than sufficient to topple surrounding traffic lights and telephone poles causing further chaos as nearby vehicles were crushed and live electrical wires writhed across the ground seeking a means to dispel their charge. It is not truly surprising then that, compared to such sturdy structures, nearby civilians were easily cast of their feet by the shockwaves of the blast. One trio in particular actually maintained an airtime of several seconds before finally crashing back to earth in a rather mangled heap with something of a nauseating ‘squelch’ from the last two corpses.
‘Oww… my spleeeen.’
As the surrounding populace gradually began to comprehend the events which had so swiftly unfolded a mild pandemonium began to set in as the crowds rapidly attempted to depart the scene; greatly inhibiting the progress of any and all emergency service personal. However once it became clear that no further detonations were forthcoming any lingering traces of fear rapidly diminished, allowing morbid curiosity to take root as people began to venture towards the site of the blast; seeking some explanation for the devastating event. With all the attention focused upon the centered of the explosion though no one took note of the body buried beneath the cadavers of two former NYPD officers as it started stirring.
‘No, no, don’t spare a moment to help the guy trapped under 300 pounds of blubber. That would actually be helpful, and this New York after all; can’t go ruining the city’s fine reputation can we?’
‘Assholes.’
After a few moments of silent struggle the unremorseful bomber managed to shift the rather obese carcass at the top of the pile which was all but crushing the air from lungs. Once the corpulent officers body had been removed though the wanders range of mobility was greatly improved, allowing him to sit up and take stock of the situation; noxious emerald eyes raking the scene as he judged the full extent of the damage. The initial blast had indeed been spectacular, exceeding the travelers original expectations; the bus itself was nothing more than a flaming hull, a mere shell of its former self and practically unrecognizable from its prior state. An unsettling grin crept across the mans lips as he gleefully observed the emergency response teams futile efforts to extinguish the billowing flames; a mocking singsong tune escaping his throat as he pushed himself to his feet.
“Beeb beep beep went the traffic… Boom boom boom went the bus… Bwah-ha-ha went psycho’s that’s why you don’t f*** with us.”
“H-help, eugh…”[/color]
The demented chant came to an abrupt end as the wanders attention immediately shifted to the bloody, and far thinner form, of the second officer still partially buried under his deceased partner. A look of astonishment overtook the bombers features as he roughly dragged the lithe body partially free and realized that, despite crippling wounds and substantial blood loss the unfortunate officer was still very much alive; having been shielded from the brunt of the blast by his bloated coworker. How much longer the man would last however was a somewhat debatable topic for a piece of shrapnel had managed to penetrate his lower abdomen; entering from the back and piercing clean through his stomach on the other side. The wound had only been further aggravated by the fainéant's efforts to pry him loose from his partner.
“Hey!” The morbid wander called out cheerfully to the gasping officer. “You didn’t die! I knew you were one of the good ones, made of tougher stuff ain’t ya? Well… maybe not, I can kinda see your liver and it doesn’t really look that good, see?”
An unwholesome scream echoed in the officer’s throat, struggling to break free of scarlet stained lips and reach the outside world, however a silver tipped hand had already clamped over the man’s face; sealing his mouth and preventing any sound from being heard over the still crackling flames of the wrecked bus. Such cries did not last long though and soon the maimed officer exhausted his reserves of energy, forcing him to fall back onto the crimson concrete, the restrictive hand leaving his face as he attempted to regain vital oxygen in order to renew his efforts. Only two breaths had been taken however before a new realm of pain blossomed within his mind as a blood stained fist crashed against his chest once, twice and finally three times before a sickening crack issued forth and three ribs were displaced and jabbed into the mans lungs.
“Shhhh now, you wouldn’t want to ruin my fun would you? That would just be rude.” The statements were uttered in a calming tone as the macabre traveler lowered his head towards his victim as though checking for a pulse. People were starting to gather now and so such affectations were necessary. Still, the bomber was only being paid minimal attention and was largely free to do as he liked; a fact he took advantage of as his hands deftly slid to the officers belt and the firearm holstered upon it. Argent fingers brushed against the cool metal of the weapon for the briefest of moments before it vanished in the blink of an eye. The same process was swiftly repeated with the policeman’s other equipment; ammunition, radio, handcuffs… everything of value was rapidly stripped from the victim’s body, including the damaged uniform.
“I’m afraid I’ll need to borrow a few odds and ends; most of my things just went up in flames you see and since you’re mean to serve the public and all that I’m guessing you don’t really have a problem with it. Simply say the magic word however and I shall cease and desist… say is this your wife?” A leather wallet was deftly opened before the dying mans eyes to display a photo of what was presumably his spouse before the demented bomber continued in an overly cheerful tone. “ You old dog, she’s a real looker you know that? Must be nice going home to that every day, I wonder what it’s like…”
“P-please, please sto..”[/color]
“Oh I’m sorry the magic word today is pizza, not please. Speaking of which do you know where I can find a good Chinese place? I just haven’t been able to… the hell?!”
The morbid strangers eyes had happened to glance back toward the burning husk of a bus during the middle of his disturbing monologue and the site which greeted his viridian gaze wiped all traces of entertainment from his visage. Flames which had previous been licking the sky at a height of at least eight feet had diminished to only three, subduing the ambient heat to the point where rescuers were beginning to approach the dilapidated wreck and clear the surrounding area. Even as the wander continued watching the conflagration died even further in a manner totally unrelated to the fire suppressing foam which was being used. Some other force was quelling the flames, limiting the damage and thus interfering with the travelers amusement.
With his dying victim completely forgotten the sadistic bomber rose slowly to his feet and began to approach the feeble ring of yellow tape which served to cordon off the blast area. Pausing beside a quotidian fire hydrant the strangers left hand reach out and gently brushed the base of the coral construct; removing a section at its base which caused water to rapidly leak down the street towards the still oblivious crowds which had gathered nearby. Toxic emerald eyes scanned the vicinity as the traveler waited for the water to progress, searching for any indication or clue as to the source of this unwanted annoyance. It was likely someone nearby, a mutant obviously, but determining precisely who would be difficult unless…
A plain and utterly unassuming alabaster female was standing within the police zone; the woman was dressed in some form of business suit but it did nothing to conceal the head of ivory hair which instantly singled out the girl as a mutant. The female’s attention was focused utterly upon the gradually dwindling fire, yet when a nearby officer approached her, requesting that she leave no doubt , the flames rapidly regained a portion of their old strength while the woman responded.
‘Found you.’
Eyes narrowed with malicious intent Hull permitted his arm to wander back towards the fire hydrant once more, a predatory smirk danced upon his features as his left hand grasped one of the slightly protruding connections which faced towards the wrecked vehicle and an instant later the locking mechanism had disappeared, allowing a torrent of water to rush forth and surge down the road towards the waiting power lines which still writhed ominously, eagerly awaiting their first victim.
As for Hull, he had already begun to march swiftly in the direction of the blast zone, his gaze fixed upon a certain snow haired troublemaker.
New York, New York, a sprawling urban metropolis colonized by individuals from all walks of life. Be they street cleaners or lawyers, priests or thieves each of them possessed a role to play, an act to perform, and each of them contributed to the design, development and history of their world; the greatest stage life has to offer. The purpose of this passage is to document the deeds of a character newly arrived upon the scene..
How does one commence their career?
The roads were crowded, well.. gridlocked would be a more apt expression considering the total lack of progress. Amid the sharp blasts emitted from the drivers of impatient vehicles and the depressed sighs of those resigned to their current fate a repetitive clacking noise could be distinguished as a booted foot hammered upon the floor.
A most cardinal question to be sure, deserving an individuals utmost time and thought before at last deriving a conclusion.
The owner of the tapping foot possessed a contemplative expression, his jaded eyes sweeping left to right, up and down, absorbing his surroundings as he sought anything of interest. Garbed in a rather loose fitting hoody of navy blue and a somewhat worn pair of urban camouflaged cargos the man within the stranded greyhound bus was almost the quintessential image of restlessness. The one aspect of the travelers appearance which served as an antitheses to the overall simulacrum of agitation though were the mans arms; perfectly quiescent the wanders hands rested atop his knees, palms facing upwards, revealing a set of silver tipped fingers.
For the decisions they make in the beginning will undoubtedly cast a shadow over their progress...
Rising abruptly the restless travel swung swiftly to his feet, one arm snapping outwards sharply to grasp the handlebars placed atop the headrests to steady his form. Once balance had been achieved the wander quickly made his way to the front of the vehicle, resolutely ignoring the strange expressions and comments of his fellow passengers as he headed towards the exit. If one were to look closely however they would perhaps note that the strangers hands paused occasionally, accidentally missing the handles and hovering for a second above the shoulders of women who had deigned to keep their purse by their side. Each time such a slip occurred however the contact was minimal; only the slightest brush of silver tipped fingers upon the straps of a purse, and then the man would have passed.
Until they either outlive it or, preferably, surpass it.
At last arriving at the head of the bus the agitated traveler exchanged brief words with the driver who, for some reason, displayed reluctance in allowing the man to leave. A terse argument was initiated but swiftly ended as currency exchanged hands and the impatient wander was allowed to depart without further difficulties. As the doors swung open sunlight flooded the shaded interior of the vehicle causing the man to blink and shade his eyes as he stepped outside, taking careful but deliberate steps as he distanced himself from whatever obstruction had caused such congestion, effectively causing him to walk down the length of the bus. Upon reaching the rear tire though the stranger paused, his viridian gaze straying down towards his own feet before swiftly kneeling and brushing up his cargos as his hands went about through the necessary motions required to deal with errant laces, again though the travelers hands slipped; fingers momentarily brushing across his left sock which vanished in less time than it took to blink.
As for myself I have always enjoyed a challenged.
With his task finished the man straightened once more, balancing one hand against the locked fuel compartment of the greyhound bus. The hum of the idle motor was still strong enough to shake the travelers arm slightly and he stared a moment before shaking his head and withdrawing a map from the pocket of his hooded sweater, unfurling it in such a way that the vehicles fuel compartment was blocked from view. Perhaps a minute or so passed as the wanderer studied the map, however once he had accomplished his purpose the map was quickly folded and returned to its original location as its owner made a swift beeline for the nearest establishment.
‘The sense of accomplishment is always sweeter when you constantly surpass yourself.’
Had any of the city’s populace happened to glance back towards the rear of the bus they would, possibly, comment upon the vehicle lack of a fuel door and, perchance, remarked upon the fact that a burning sock appeared to have been placed inside.
--
I simply cannot comprehend what is wrong with the world these days; society seems utterly unable to act in an appropriate manner. Take, for instance, the inane impasse impeding individuals in their efforts to travel from point A to B, it is infuriating is it not? I cannot detect even the faintest trace of sirens, either medical or authoritative. This is Times Square! Or so my map would have me believe; I’m still not entirely certain it is a genuine article. I suppose that’s the price I pay for shopping in Quebec though… I really must make a note to vaporize that linguistically poisoned hellhole once I finally manage to obtain a nuclear weapon. I simply do not understand why they are so difficult procure; America alone has enough nukes that they could assign one to every Russian citizen, yet they refuse to share. If only there were a country that weren’t quite so greedy…
Hmm, perhaps a trip to Pakistan is in order. The place is already utter chaos, I doubt they’ll even notice if a few missiles happen to be ‘misplaced’.
Where was I? Oh yes. This is Times Square! One of the most active roadways in the world, it should not be possible for someone to cause a collision that lacks a single fatality, yet somehow these people have managed it!
I must however, digress, it does not do to discuss a situation while influenced by such emotions. I need to examine this objectively; what could have caused such a delightfully potential situation to fail so abysmally? The answer is truly quite simple; there are too many people. The ill fated driver of the Mercedes had no room to move, no means of extending the damage to the surrounding lanes of traffic. The city was far too populous and had actually reached the point where it was disrupting the natural order of things.
Once I understood this the solution was elementary; both in theory and in practice, indeed I dare hope that the end result shall be one of my more striking displays, but then that’s just me; ever the optimist. What it will truly hinge upon is whether or not the initial blast will trigger a chain of explosions; lord knows the cars are close enough but I suppose time will tell… in about 20 seconds. Until then I believe it would be most opportune to procure a proper stage from whence to view my work, in fact this retail outlet with sturdy concrete walls seems most promising.
As I was proceeding towards my destination however my eyes came across a sight that almost made me pause. Standing not five feet away from the gaudy entrance of my intended retreat was a dutiful duo decked in blue. I refer of course to the NYPD, a group whose status and name is known throughout the continent for their… unique, efforts in law enforcement, especially those concerning a certain soubrette with a fetish for cartilage. I myself am unaware precisely who crafted the strategy of sending an endless tide of victims towards your opponent until they leave out of boredom but I would dearly love to shake them by the hand.
In either case once I had spotted these two dashing victims I immediately altered my route; switching my pace to a swift run as I cut around behind them, effectively placing them between myself and the road, I wouldn’t want to block their view after all. My gracious efforts however were for naught, as the two officers were quite quick in spotting me and apparently deemed my behavior to be somewhat suspicious as they turned to confront me.
“Is there a problem sir?”[/color]
I swiftly painted a surprised expression upon my features as the devout duo attempted to fix me with penetrating stares. “Who me? No, no, no ,no. ”[/color] May cadence adopted an apocryphal innocence as I raised my arms and shook my hands in an excessively dismissive gesture as I watched their eyes narrow in suspicion. One of them even started to go for his gun, bless him. I could have had my knife through both his femoral arteries before he even released the clasp on the thing, still I suppose it’s the thought that counts, the boy could tell what I was, not many can do that just at a glance. He had potential, shame I was about to use him as a meat shield.
“I just think it would be in your-”[/color]
That was as far as I got before the initial blast took hold.
--- ((OOC: As most of you will likely note I have done this post from two points of view, the first is in 3rd person while the 2nd is in first. The reason I have done this is because I have not yet decided how I truly want to write Hull. A part of me feels that in order to adequately explain how Hull manipulates things to his advantage I need the 3rd person. However it is something of a challenge to fit in witty remark's without use of the 1st. And the combination of the two you will likely note makes for quite lengthy posts that limit my activity.
Thus I am throwing the floor the open to suggestions, what style do you prefer I write? Please say why or why not so that I might understand your train of thought and come to a conclusion.))
Character's full name: Alexander Damien Darling Alias/ Nickname/ Code name: Sander, Hull Gender: Male Age: 24 Birthday: (if applicable) Nationality/ Ethnicity: Canada Birthplace/ Home/ Place of origin: Toronto
Appearance
Hair colour and style: Black Eyes: Toxic green Height: 6’0 Build: athletic/toned Visible mutation: Silver/Grey fingertips Scars/ Tattoos/ Piercings: N/A Other features: N/A
Everyday clothing style: Traditionally a short sleeve or sleeveless shirt of preferably darker colours which more easily conceal blood, these are then topped by another layer of clothing, normally something baggy such as a trench coat or hoody to mask/distort his figure and help disguise his mutation by having opponents assume that he carries his weapons on his person. As for his lower half a pair of worn jeans or old camo cargos will typically suffice. Finally in terms of footwear he has a tendency to favour the durable jet black boots he wore while in the armed forces and on that note a series of dog tags adorn his throat, none of which are his own. Uniform: N/A Sleepwear: Boxers Miscellaneous clothing:
Character
Personality: How to put this? I suffer from one of the worst contagions known to man, the black plague is as nothing compared to my torment and cancer would be a welcome diversion. I speak of course, of boredom; an affliction of the mind occurring only among sentient beings. A disease with no unique remedy I have been forced over the years to seek my panacea with precious little success…
Life has always held a certain fascination for me, an addictive allure if you will. The numerous ways in which a creature will struggle to subsist before finally succumbing to their ultimate demise, that is what I seek to experience. The joy of extinguishing the existence of another, observing as life fades from the eyes, listening to a final rattling breath or simply the abolition of consciousness as a bullet penetrates the skull… I wish to witness all this and more, and I have fulfilled my desires many times.
Likely there are those among you who label me as homicidal, dangerously unstable, perhaps even psychotic, yet I would beg to differ. I am not without restraint you see and I consider myself quite capable of rational thought, why just the other day I eagerly aided a holidaying family searching for their place of residence. I conversed with them for a full 300 seconds without maiming a single soul and happily informed them of the swiftest route to their abode which just so happened to rest beside a partially completed interstate. …Why are you looking at me like that?
*sigh*
Well it’s not as though I’m unaccustomed to social stigmatism; prejudice is something I have learned to deal with; mainly by ignoring the opinions of those whose disagree with me and sending them to an early grave. Still I can be reasoned with and, at times, even persuaded not to banish people from this weary mortal coil. I recall one most enjoyable occasion when I was on commission a few years ago and the survivors of a local rebel faction gave me access to their rather impressive armory in exchange for not laying waste to their village. Sadly though I was still duty bound to report their location and affiliation to my superiors and a missile strike was launched a day or so later.
Like every man though I have my limits, after all there is a point where blood simply cannot be washed out and people do seem determined to bother you if you wear too much of the stuff. Then there’s all the little costs to consider; fuel, maintenance, ammunition, taxes… oh yes I pay my taxes; after all the government funds many of my most common victims, and I would so hate for their ranks to go unreplenished.
…hmm? Your still here? I would have thought I’d explained myself quite thoroughly by now *sigh* I suppose some people simply need things to be spelled out for them.
I. Like. To. Kill. Things.
If any part of that is still unclear I would ask that you please cease this ridiculous excuse of an interview and unbind me so that I may for once do the human race a favour and eliminate your pitiful contribution from the gene pool.
[Excerpt from CSIS psychological review] Subject appears to posses psychopathic tendencies, however said tendencies are related only to the subject of death. When properly restrained subject is capable of civil social discourse yet will often attempt to steer any conversation to the subject of mortality. If unable to act physically subject was found to enjoy videogames which simulated the act of killing. When entertained subject frequently adopts a comical, almost childish persona yet can easily be drawn to bursts of anger. Subject was also proved capable of rational thinking when a bartering system involving chess was introduced in exchange for videogames, demonstrating unusually high planning ability for his condition.
Currently unknown whether subject can be har
[Blood obscures the rest of the page, document is continued at next legible point]
Subject, aka me, has “proved capable” of escaping the crappy little room you call a cell.
Have fun cleaning up.
PS, I’m taking the Xbox with me.
Hobbies/ Interests: Maiming, Rending, Immolation, Halo, Killzone, Grand Theft Auto IV Job or part time job and description: hmm, executioner sounds nice Fears/ phobias/ concerns: I can think of no worse fate then boredom and as death seems to be nothing than an endless sleep I shall avoid mine at all costs; everyone else however is fair game. Special talents: I have been trained in all conventional firearms and also possess a significant degree of knowledge in relation to chemistry, to clarify, think Fight Club.
Morality
Good/ bad/ neutral/ other: Evil
[b]Mutations[/b]
Mutation Description: A little something I like to call transmutational storage; for those dimwits among us struggling to understand such a lexeme allow me to elucidate and put you out of your intellectual misery. Simply put, anything I touch is converted into pure energy; it is then absorbed through my skin into a unique type of cell which acts as my blood. Like any good magic trick however the disappearance is only half the act, the real skill is in making the vanished item reappear and it is a talent I have worked hard to achieve and in essence is purely a reverse of the prior process.
Now for those of you in the back shaking in your little booties at the possible power I command allow me to put aside at least some of your fears by informing you that I am only human… well not really, but the point is I have limitations. For one I can only convert objects that are within my grasp, I believe that this has something to do with the silver flesh upon my fingertips but one with my mere level of expertise cannot be certain. Secondly once I have reproduced an item I cannot create it again unless it has once more been absorbed, so sadly I am unable to conjure endless rivers of blood or repeatedly execute your favourite kitten, puppy, bunny or <insert treasured pet here>. Finally I appear to have a limitation as to exactly how much I am capable of storing at any one time, by my own modest estimations my storage is limited to approximately a 15’x15’x15 area and thus I am unable to assimilate collection of items with a total volume greater than the aforementioned size.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, who wants to shake hands? Come now, I promise I’ll give it back and as I’m feeling generous I’ll only beat with you with the wet end three times.
Ah yes, where would I be without this little gem? Likely stranded in my senior year of high school forever attempting to prevail against my demented calculus professor, tell me sir if x is the number of seconds one can hold their breath underwater and is equal to x^2 +3y -12 and y is equal to 15+3x, how long do you have to live? Sir? *sigh* If only he had applied himself to the task at hand…
Hmm, I seem to have gone on something of a tangent, do forgive me it is most difficult to stay on track while reminiscing. As I was saying though, I possess a photographic memory; a most useful trait which I believe to be a result of my own unique chemical makeup, disaggregating it to a level that you plebeians will understand; each of my cells essentially contains the ability to memorize whatever it comes into contact with, for the most part this relates to the objects I convert and absorb. In regards to the neurons housed in my cranium however they are capable of memorizing the synaptic transfers between cells which occur as the brain interprets all the information it receives. Simply put it allows me to not only recall the ingredients for say… homemade explosives, but the process behind it as well.
Now where did I put my bleach?
Fighting Style
Explanation: While I try not to prescribe to any specific fighting style I did receive a fair amount of training in hand to hand combat while serving with the CAF, for the most part though I abide by own philosophy; everything is a weapon and any advantage which can be taken will be taken. Pros for fighting style: Just like the Spanish inquisition no one expects to be attacked with a pair house keys or even a bottle cap thus I am able to retain the advantage of surprise in most of my engagements. The fact that I was also taught how to utilize various firearms in close combat also has some merit.
Cons for fighting style: For those of you prancing around in alabaster pajamas with multicoloured belts there is a high probability you will find my own unique methods to be somewhat ineffective, therefore should I encounter one of you karate kicking cretins I shall make certain to stay my distance and judge the effectiveness of your ‘martial arts’ against say… an MP5, or some other equally useful tool capable of solving 800 or more problems a minute.
Faction Allegiance
Allegiance? Dear oh dear you haven’t been paying attention have you? If you would kindly glance to the above portion of this document you would note that I have what might be termed a slight… issue, when it comes to authority, generally speaking anyone who tells me to perform an act I deem undesirable finds themselves intimately acquainted with their internal organs. Need I say more?
History Of Your Character: Where to begin? I suppose I could start with my birth, a rather horrid affair if truth be told though it did have its moments. The start was full of screaming, pain, tears and that was just my mother, however things swiftly became rather dull right after that as I was wrapped up and packaged away with all the other hell spawns which had been churned out that day. That was a nightmare let me tell you; surrounded by dozens of screeching neonates and lacking the capability to strange a single one of them into blessed silence, however I digress.
My childhood was one of utmost tedium, at the time I did not truly understood myself and how I differed from the masses. I was never content with the trivial activities and distractions that satisfied so many of my peers; I gained no real sense of accomplishment in simply striking a diminutive onyx puck into a shallow net. The game always seemed to be lacking some inherent element and it was not until I reached my teenage years that I discovered the sports hidden potential for violence. I am not sure I can adequately describe the thrill that ran through me when I first struck down an opposing player; it was a simple maneuver, merely hooking my stick around the poor boys leg but the overwhelming cheer I received from the crowd rapidly spurred me on to new conquests and I swiftly earned the name skull breaker after a particularly entertaining incident where a young man just so happened to trip and place his cranium directly in the path of my aluminum hockey stick. To this day I have never seen blood bounce as far as it did on that ice rink.
Heh, good times.
Sadly any amount of healthy aggression from a boy my age was severely looked down upon at the time and my elders strove to divert my energies to other efforts seeking to install within me a sense of order and restraint, to that end I was enrolled in various martial arts classes, none of which lasted long; I simply could not comprehend or abide by the rules and limitations. I saw no need to restrict myself to a certain stance nor could I fathom the concept that certain areas of the body was off limits; it simply made no sense both then and now.
My educators did have one small success however, and that was in the realm of chemistry. I swiftly found myself fascinated by how a simple collection common, everyday elements, could be combined to create devastating effects. Needless to say most of the knowledge I gained in this area was self taught, where would we be without the scientific method?
Skipping forward a few years in order to save myself both time and energy I shall recommence at the point where I believe I truly began to come into my own; namely my career in the Canadian armed Forces, that was journey all its own. I still remember the charge of adrenaline which coursed through me the first time I was granted access to the armory. The sheer volume and variety of weaponry was astounding to a neophyte such as myself; pistols, tasers, assault rifles, grenades, rocket launchers, turret guns, sniper rifles all lined up for display and use, I couldn’t decide which I wanted first. Unhappily that decision did not rest with me but rather my units drill sergeant, who declared us unfit for weapons training, fortuitously though an unexpected accident left that particular officer in hospital and unable to feel anything below the waist.
The new drill sergeant was, for some reason, far more accommodating.
I suppose I could go on and detail my many exploits while on tour however I am beginning to experience a sense of ennui so I’m afraid I must keep things brief. Near the end of my tour of duty a rather awkward event took place which caused the exposure of my mutant abilities, (for some reason I just could not convince people that it was completely natural for an individuals head to abruptly disappear in a gushing crimson fountain of blood). This revelation swiftly caused me to become ostracized from my unit and a few higher ranking officers I had somehow managed to displease during my military career took the opportunity to turn the bureaucratic system against me; charging me with a series of war crimes which, while valid, possessed no evidence to substantiate them. I was then rapidly carted off to a military tribunal, found guilty on all accounts, and swiftly committed to a scientific testing centre which moonlighted a psychiatric asylum of sorts and well… if you’ve been a diligent little reader you know how that turned out.
Roleplay What? There’s more to this abysmal abomination you call an application? Well forget it I’m done. I’ll admit it’s been fun; far too rarely do I get the chance to wax poetically about myself in the detail I so duly deserve. However, everyone has their breaking point, and for me this is that point, and as such I refuse to commit another locution to this insidious innovation of creation.
For those of you looking for more though… well, let’s just say I’ll be around.
