Murder City
- Thread starter Gattletowne
- Start date
Gattletowne
The Crowned Light of Midday Night
There was a distinctive clank as locks released and the inner door split its middle and sank into the floor.
"We are rescued my friends," Six said.
Two men stood on the opposite side of the foyer gate. One was tall, standing well over six feet, and very lanky on the verge of gaunt. His bald head made him appear almost cartoonish, like a B-movie ghoul lurking in a run down Victorian house. The other was of similar height to Sixy Six, blonde hair and beard worn long and heavily braded. His azure eyes held both alertness and good humor. Both were dressed in form fitting, black leather. And both were heavily armed with edged weapons of varying types.
"I tell you what," the blonde said with a vaguely southern accent like he worked on phasing it out, "that friend of yours is one tough somebitch. Jess had that big sword of his right on him and he somehow ducked it. I put a dirk in him from 10 feet away, but he took off. 67 got away again. Lucky fuck."
"Fine with me. I'd rather be his good-bye anyway," Six answered.
"You have problems with this group?" The tall one named Jess asked gesturing toward the body. His accent was very Eastern bloc.
"Mercy killing," Six shrugged, "we clear to leave?"
"We are clear to go, brother," the blonde said.
"Stay close to us everyone. Larger groups are less likely to get attacked. Don't worry about sniper fire, there's never been a rifle in the city. But If you stray too far, you could easily get snatched, especially unarmed. Be aware of your surroundings. And try to be quiet," Six said.
The three men began their march down the hospital hall and into Murder City.
"We're headed to Cliffside, Trace. If you want to go it alone, this is where we part ways. Get your hands on a weapon as soon as possible and look for a supply box. They're never predictable. You'll know them by the faint green glow. An emerald barcode is on the front of them, that's where you scan the bones," Six patted the pouch he put the fat man's phalange in, "but be careful. There's traps set out for new bloods. Look just like the boxes, even a barcode on it. But once you see the real thing and open it, it's something you'll never forget. Once you get comfortable, there's a trading post about six blocks south of here. It's usually neutral, unless a deal goes sour, but it's a place where you can barter in relative safety. Even the Hackles use it. Good luck."
Six began to walk cautiously but confidently in the direction of the Soundless territory. Jess, looming over Natalie, bent slightly down to her and said quietly,
"This is where manners end. If you try to sneak after us, we kill you. No hesitation." He turned to join the others.
"We are rescued my friends," Six said.
Two men stood on the opposite side of the foyer gate. One was tall, standing well over six feet, and very lanky on the verge of gaunt. His bald head made him appear almost cartoonish, like a B-movie ghoul lurking in a run down Victorian house. The other was of similar height to Sixy Six, blonde hair and beard worn long and heavily braded. His azure eyes held both alertness and good humor. Both were dressed in form fitting, black leather. And both were heavily armed with edged weapons of varying types.
"I tell you what," the blonde said with a vaguely southern accent like he worked on phasing it out, "that friend of yours is one tough somebitch. Jess had that big sword of his right on him and he somehow ducked it. I put a dirk in him from 10 feet away, but he took off. 67 got away again. Lucky fuck."
"Fine with me. I'd rather be his good-bye anyway," Six answered.
"You have problems with this group?" The tall one named Jess asked gesturing toward the body. His accent was very Eastern bloc.
"Mercy killing," Six shrugged, "we clear to leave?"
"We are clear to go, brother," the blonde said.
"Stay close to us everyone. Larger groups are less likely to get attacked. Don't worry about sniper fire, there's never been a rifle in the city. But If you stray too far, you could easily get snatched, especially unarmed. Be aware of your surroundings. And try to be quiet," Six said.
The three men began their march down the hospital hall and into Murder City.
***
The old hospital emptied out into a dystopian nightmare. Skyscrapers, office buildings, and street-level shops alike were in various states of entropic disrepair. Added to the sprawl was the eclectic collection of architecture and design. It was like a World Fair gone grotesquely wrong. Some lines were angular and severe while others were rounded and textured. One building might be avant-garde and ultra conceptual, and it's neighbor a Japanese pagoda. Coupled with streets that spun web-like in every direction, the effect was disorienting and unnerving."We're headed to Cliffside, Trace. If you want to go it alone, this is where we part ways. Get your hands on a weapon as soon as possible and look for a supply box. They're never predictable. You'll know them by the faint green glow. An emerald barcode is on the front of them, that's where you scan the bones," Six patted the pouch he put the fat man's phalange in, "but be careful. There's traps set out for new bloods. Look just like the boxes, even a barcode on it. But once you see the real thing and open it, it's something you'll never forget. Once you get comfortable, there's a trading post about six blocks south of here. It's usually neutral, unless a deal goes sour, but it's a place where you can barter in relative safety. Even the Hackles use it. Good luck."
Six began to walk cautiously but confidently in the direction of the Soundless territory. Jess, looming over Natalie, bent slightly down to her and said quietly,
"This is where manners end. If you try to sneak after us, we kill you. No hesitation." He turned to join the others.
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Morph
Best Villain 2016*
Vi sidled up to Sixty Six, looking over her shoulder at Natalie as Jess whispered something to her. Probably a threat. These Soundless seemed to love threats. She wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. She wasn't sure of much at all. All she had were theories, and she knew she was reaching.
She took a deep breath. Even with death on the line, she still wasn't very good at talking to people. "So, um... there's a way out?"
She took a deep breath. Even with death on the line, she still wasn't very good at talking to people. "So, um... there's a way out?"
Gattletowne
The Crowned Light of Midday Night
"Getting out is real easy, miss," the blonde said as he came up on the other side of Six.
"You don't have to scare the poor girl any more than she already is, Kook," Six said.
"Well it is."
"No," Six answered the girl, "none that we've found. Remember I told all of you about the Undercity? The running theory is that at the end of the tunnels down there is a way out. Hasn't been confirmed because no one has come back. Ever. And people have been going down there for years now. But we keep trying. We've been mapping it. The map always comes back with the Codex. Rumors are that the Hackles have destroyed the map a few times, and another still comes back with the Codex. No sure if it's true or not. These days the Hackles don't do runs. Most of them like this place. Psychopaths paradise and all. If they get the Codex, they hang on to it to draw us and the Alkies into their territory. Pretty sure they have it now. Hasn't been a run on the Undercity in a year or so."
"You don't have to scare the poor girl any more than she already is, Kook," Six said.
"Well it is."
"No," Six answered the girl, "none that we've found. Remember I told all of you about the Undercity? The running theory is that at the end of the tunnels down there is a way out. Hasn't been confirmed because no one has come back. Ever. And people have been going down there for years now. But we keep trying. We've been mapping it. The map always comes back with the Codex. Rumors are that the Hackles have destroyed the map a few times, and another still comes back with the Codex. No sure if it's true or not. These days the Hackles don't do runs. Most of them like this place. Psychopaths paradise and all. If they get the Codex, they hang on to it to draw us and the Alkies into their territory. Pretty sure they have it now. Hasn't been a run on the Undercity in a year or so."
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ArQane
With blood comes life, with life comes death.
Natalie Trace
Natalie spent some time crying after she had left the group. Making sure she stayed off of the main roads and walkways, she found a nice secluded corner to rest for a bit. It was then that she decided was a good time to process everything that was thrown at her in the past few hours. Her tears were less of a sign of weakness, it was the ones people would have when wishing goodbye to an old friend or family member. For her, it was the "Old Life" that was mentioned so much during the conversation with the others. The entire fact that she couldn't remember a trace of it created a sense of nostalgia, and she let it out by crying silently to herself.
Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow I'll bounce back. Tomorrow I'll be ready to kill. It's all a game, right?
Perhaps she was just assuring herself, as Sixty-Six did. If so, it calmed her nerves. It was an arena where the only paths were to survive or be killed. 'As soon as you wrap your head around it, it's not so bad here.' That's whiat the professional said, or something of the variant.
Natalie searched her vicinity for anything to defend herself--or to attack--with. There was little that was too useful, and she settled with a fallen tree branch, snapping it into two to create a somewhat sharp point. Holding it in her hand, she felt childish. As if a stick was enough to overpower an armed gunman.
Some other survival instincts kicked in, or rather, forced themselves into her mind. She felt both hunger and thirst, which both seemly just appeared after she had finished her moment of solitude. In the back of her mind, she knew that she needed a place to sleep; somewhere hidden and absent of threat. She somewhat regretted leaving the group, knowing that they must have had provisions, weapons, and a roof to live under, but deep in her heart she felt like she made the right decision. A large group always has its weaknesses, both external and among its own people.
And besides, there was nothing she could do now. Jess, the tall one, made it clear that she was no longer welcome to their territory.
Natalie sighed. She felt stupid. Confused. But the hunger was intolerant and she settled off in search for food, water, or shelter, trudging through the foliage as quietly and alert as she can.
Natalie spent some time crying after she had left the group. Making sure she stayed off of the main roads and walkways, she found a nice secluded corner to rest for a bit. It was then that she decided was a good time to process everything that was thrown at her in the past few hours. Her tears were less of a sign of weakness, it was the ones people would have when wishing goodbye to an old friend or family member. For her, it was the "Old Life" that was mentioned so much during the conversation with the others. The entire fact that she couldn't remember a trace of it created a sense of nostalgia, and she let it out by crying silently to herself.
Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow I'll bounce back. Tomorrow I'll be ready to kill. It's all a game, right?
Perhaps she was just assuring herself, as Sixty-Six did. If so, it calmed her nerves. It was an arena where the only paths were to survive or be killed. 'As soon as you wrap your head around it, it's not so bad here.' That's whiat the professional said, or something of the variant.
Natalie searched her vicinity for anything to defend herself--or to attack--with. There was little that was too useful, and she settled with a fallen tree branch, snapping it into two to create a somewhat sharp point. Holding it in her hand, she felt childish. As if a stick was enough to overpower an armed gunman.
Some other survival instincts kicked in, or rather, forced themselves into her mind. She felt both hunger and thirst, which both seemly just appeared after she had finished her moment of solitude. In the back of her mind, she knew that she needed a place to sleep; somewhere hidden and absent of threat. She somewhat regretted leaving the group, knowing that they must have had provisions, weapons, and a roof to live under, but deep in her heart she felt like she made the right decision. A large group always has its weaknesses, both external and among its own people.
And besides, there was nothing she could do now. Jess, the tall one, made it clear that she was no longer welcome to their territory.
Natalie sighed. She felt stupid. Confused. But the hunger was intolerant and she settled off in search for food, water, or shelter, trudging through the foliage as quietly and alert as she can.
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ArQane
With blood comes life, with life comes death.
Natalie Trace
It was getting dark. Natalie was still making her way around the thick undergrowth, but decided that her progress was too slow. Taking a risk, she exposed herself out in the open a bit. She felt vulnerable, naked even, when she left the foliage that she was hiding in. Should someone had been nearby, she probably lacked the strength and equipment to fend off an attack. The worst of matters was that she lacked insight to where she was supposed to head, or needed to be. She wished Sixty-Six was present. As much as a killer he was, he knew the ropes of the game.
Testing her luck, or perhaps just her stupidity, Natalie ventured into one of the abandoned buildings. She had avoided them for a while now, in fear that an opponent had established a base of operations in one that she would wander into, but now she was too tired and hungry to worry about that. Perhaps, she thought, others would have thought the same exact way, and maybe I can hide in one for the night. It was stupid logic, but nothing was logical anymore anyways.
Entering the building was the scariest part. The rooms are were barely lit, and she had to sneak around, sharp stick in hand. Every time she made the faintest of noises, she would wince as it lightly echoed through the empty halls. Yes, it is frightening here.
However, the higher up she scaled the building, the safer she felt. Indeed, there was nobody around. If this was the case for every building, it might end up being a solid game plan-- moving from one to the next, perhaps foraging a meal now and then or finding a freshwater source to drink out of. For the first time, Natalie felt the glimmer of hope.
As she peered into a room, her heart sank. There across the room from her was, if she made it out correctly, a person dressed in a black shirt and jeans. Oddly, he was completely still, as if he had heard something and was wait for further disturbances. Natalie froze in her place, not daring to breathe. For a long time, the figure stood frozen in place, before Natalie finally decided to approach him. As she did, she nearly broke into a fit of laughter upon realizing what it was. He was not a "he" at all, but rather an "it." The object was nothing more than a mannequin that was used to display clothing or whatnot.
Natalie quickly stripped the mannequin of the garments, and put them on. Though it was a bit loose on her, it was certainly better than the neon yellow apparel that she had on, which was both hideous and garish to the eyes. Even from far away it marked her as a free kill, and these clothes suited her cause much better. Eagerly, she continued scouring the building for other worthwhile items.
Natalie's luck ended when she, to her delight, discovered a rusty knife in the drawer. Apart from it's dirty appearance, it seemed to be in excellent condition so she carried it along with her hand. Decidedly, she decided to use the building--which performed miracles for her-- for one more thing. She snuggled into a somewhat hidden corner and covered herself in the now undressed neon clothing to substitute a blanket. Keeping the knife tightly in her hand, she closed her eyes. Her stomach complained, but she was too tired to acknowledge it just yet.
Just for an hour or two.
It was getting dark. Natalie was still making her way around the thick undergrowth, but decided that her progress was too slow. Taking a risk, she exposed herself out in the open a bit. She felt vulnerable, naked even, when she left the foliage that she was hiding in. Should someone had been nearby, she probably lacked the strength and equipment to fend off an attack. The worst of matters was that she lacked insight to where she was supposed to head, or needed to be. She wished Sixty-Six was present. As much as a killer he was, he knew the ropes of the game.
Testing her luck, or perhaps just her stupidity, Natalie ventured into one of the abandoned buildings. She had avoided them for a while now, in fear that an opponent had established a base of operations in one that she would wander into, but now she was too tired and hungry to worry about that. Perhaps, she thought, others would have thought the same exact way, and maybe I can hide in one for the night. It was stupid logic, but nothing was logical anymore anyways.
Entering the building was the scariest part. The rooms are were barely lit, and she had to sneak around, sharp stick in hand. Every time she made the faintest of noises, she would wince as it lightly echoed through the empty halls. Yes, it is frightening here.
However, the higher up she scaled the building, the safer she felt. Indeed, there was nobody around. If this was the case for every building, it might end up being a solid game plan-- moving from one to the next, perhaps foraging a meal now and then or finding a freshwater source to drink out of. For the first time, Natalie felt the glimmer of hope.
As she peered into a room, her heart sank. There across the room from her was, if she made it out correctly, a person dressed in a black shirt and jeans. Oddly, he was completely still, as if he had heard something and was wait for further disturbances. Natalie froze in her place, not daring to breathe. For a long time, the figure stood frozen in place, before Natalie finally decided to approach him. As she did, she nearly broke into a fit of laughter upon realizing what it was. He was not a "he" at all, but rather an "it." The object was nothing more than a mannequin that was used to display clothing or whatnot.
Natalie quickly stripped the mannequin of the garments, and put them on. Though it was a bit loose on her, it was certainly better than the neon yellow apparel that she had on, which was both hideous and garish to the eyes. Even from far away it marked her as a free kill, and these clothes suited her cause much better. Eagerly, she continued scouring the building for other worthwhile items.
Natalie's luck ended when she, to her delight, discovered a rusty knife in the drawer. Apart from it's dirty appearance, it seemed to be in excellent condition so she carried it along with her hand. Decidedly, she decided to use the building--which performed miracles for her-- for one more thing. She snuggled into a somewhat hidden corner and covered herself in the now undressed neon clothing to substitute a blanket. Keeping the knife tightly in her hand, she closed her eyes. Her stomach complained, but she was too tired to acknowledge it just yet.
Just for an hour or two.
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Incognus
:D
Kurtus
Red, blue, yellow, green, white, purple, black, red, blue, yellow, green, white, purple, black. The colors assaulted the man's closed eyes as he awoke. He felt cold, dizzy, and sore.
"ughh." A groan. Was that his voice? It sounded hoarse and stagnant, as if he hadn't used it in some time. He opened his eyes and quickly sat up. His groggy head spun but the feeling was lessening. Cracking his neck and rolling his shoulder, he looked around. His arm was sore. And for some damned reason he found himself in a dirty white room sitting on a steel coroner table. Is this a hospital? he wondered, Where the fuck am I? He tried to think back to how he might have gotten here, only there was nothing. He couldn't recall a single detail, not one shred of memory. The burly man's instincts kicked in as he assessed his situation. It was dark, save for the colors of the screen over his head. Their cycle gave the room an eerie, flickering glow. Eyes brushed over the cracking, once white walls and the broken tile floor. Dust and dirt were everywhere, a pile of drywall sat on the ground under a large hole that exposed copper piping, it seemed someone had punched into the wall. There was a twisted and broken metal chair lying in the corner as well, far too destroyed to be of any use as a seat. A few pieces of trash littered the floor and the man caught a glimpse of movement, it was a rat scurrying into its hole.
The place was disgusting and in a serious state of disrepair. The only clean thing in the room was the table on which he now sat, but even that was smudged and dented. He hand rubbed his face and felt an eye patch secured over his left eye. Oh yeah, he had forgotten about that injury. He knew it was supposed to be there but he had no inkling as to how he had gotten it. Then he noticed his clothing. The hell? He was wearing what looked like a neon yellow jumpsuit and black leather work boots. His lungs filled with air, about to call out to whatever stupid fuck thought it was a good idea to leave him in this pigsty, but he was cut off when a woman's robotic voice answered. "Hello. You will be disoriented..."
The man only paid attention to the message part way through. Murder City? That's fuckin rich. This was a joke and a damned stupid one at that. He slid off the table and growled, "Your justice can suck my fat-" Then a woman's sharp scream cut him off. His head turned to the source of the noise and he noticed a very faint line of light. It was the bottom of a door he hadn't seen earlier, shrouded in shadow and shut tight. The man's ears strained to hear anything else. Silence. He began walking to the doorway.
*crash* "Hey! No wait-!" Then there was a gurgle as another man's voice was cut short. Next a thump, a noise he recognized as a body hitting the floor. How he knew that sound so well, the man didn't know, but what he was sure of was that the tussle had originated from a neighboring room. It was closer than the last scream, and that meant he was likely next. His right hand grabbed the twisted metal chair and his ear pressed against the door. A few moments later, he heard footsteps that stopped on the other side. Backing away quickly, the door was suddenly kicked in.
The dim lighting of the room beyond silhouetted what looked like a woman. The TV in the hospital room had already turned off and gave him zero light to make out any features, but what he did see was the shape a very large knife in her left hand. She charged him, frizzled hair flying back, and the knife lunged at his abdomen. The muscular man quickly sidestepped to his right, redirecting her knife hand with his left, and swung the chair around at the attacker. The metal caught her in the back and she fell to the floor, but the girl wasn't down and quickly scrambled to her feet again. She was agile, and he was big. The small room they were brawling in held him at a tactical disadvantage. He needed room to swing and maneuver. Moving towards the door, he shoved the woman back again when she came at him, then ran out into the dimly lit, main foyer. It was illuminated by two bulbs overhead, one was on while the other flickered ominously. Walls held the same cracked and dirtied appearance as the chamber he was previously in, and the tiling was in no better shape.
Movement caught his trained eyes and his head spun to find four more men running in through a main doorway. Shit. There's more. This was getting annoying. He was beginning to wonder if he somehow ended up behind enemy lines. Just as they entered, his assailant walked out of the doorway, and the better lighting gave a much clearer picture of the girl. "What the-?!" his gruffy voice called out. The woman looked like a lunatic. Her medium length, strawberry blonde hair was a tangled mess and her face was distorted, as if she'd been hit with a baseball bat and never bothered to get the bone reconstructed. Around her neck was a necklace of- toes? And three nasty rotting feet were tied to her belt line. She closed the distance to her opponent and slashed at him with her knife again. He was able to dodge, but just barely as one of her swings gave him a cut across his left cheek. He swung the chair down at her but the blasted cunt had rolled. Tile chipped and vibrations reverberated up his arm from the missed swing. GOD dammit!
A woman stumbled out of another doorway, brunette and much better looking than his opponent, but he didn't have time to gawk. She was wearing the same apparel as he was, ugly bright yellow. Then his eyes swung over to one of the newcomers, at the same time the large man had pulled a corked glass orb from a pocket in his military vest. He cocked his arm back. A grenade? His attacker had followed his gaze to the other man, and the projectile flew at the blonde. Reacting quickly, she batted the vial away and sent it careening towards the brunette. Thin glass shattered on impact with her chest and green liquid exploded over her. Screams. She howled and choked on the fumes that surrounded her as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. The strong acid ate away at her clothing and skin, red blood mixing with green to form an ugly rot brown. She collapsed to the floor, still and silent, as the chemicals continued to eat at her body.
Then there was a soft glint of metal. The blonde woman had retaliated against the man in military gear. Her knife left her fingers and lodged into his throat. A stream of red spurted out of his sliced jugular as the thrown blade found it's mark. She watched as he collapsed to the ground, grasping at his throat. That was the opening he was waiting for. Swinging the chair with as much force as he could manage, he connected with the distracted killer. Metal slammed into her temple and she went down, hand holding the bleeding wound. "You bat shit crazy BITCH!" he yelled. She had tried to kill him. Tried to cut him up and wear him like jewelry. But the muscular man was not about to add to her foot fetish. He was pissed. This whole situation was tilted. He didn't know what country he was in or what damned mission had brought him into this hell, but he was getting out. The metal chair came down again and again on the woman, bones snapped and sickening splatters sounded. He didn't forget about the other three, but it didn't matter because it appeared as if they opted to watch rather than attack. He wanted answers. Real fucking answers to what the hell was going on. Why he could recognize every object around him without being able to recall a single detail from his past? It pissed him off. It really pissed him off. So the chair kept coming down until his neon yellow coveralls were nearly dyed red, and the woman's body beneath his hulking frame was just about as mangled as the chair that pummeled her.
Finally, he dropped the weapon. His head pounded, anger and adrenaline had begun turning his vision red. He needed to stop and reassess. Turning towards the three onlookers the man spoke. "Now you fucks had better let me in on whatever the hell is going on around here. I'm pissed. And I am NOT friendly when I'm pissed." He ground his teeth as he stared daggers into the small group.
Red, blue, yellow, green, white, purple, black, red, blue, yellow, green, white, purple, black. The colors assaulted the man's closed eyes as he awoke. He felt cold, dizzy, and sore.
"ughh." A groan. Was that his voice? It sounded hoarse and stagnant, as if he hadn't used it in some time. He opened his eyes and quickly sat up. His groggy head spun but the feeling was lessening. Cracking his neck and rolling his shoulder, he looked around. His arm was sore. And for some damned reason he found himself in a dirty white room sitting on a steel coroner table. Is this a hospital? he wondered, Where the fuck am I? He tried to think back to how he might have gotten here, only there was nothing. He couldn't recall a single detail, not one shred of memory. The burly man's instincts kicked in as he assessed his situation. It was dark, save for the colors of the screen over his head. Their cycle gave the room an eerie, flickering glow. Eyes brushed over the cracking, once white walls and the broken tile floor. Dust and dirt were everywhere, a pile of drywall sat on the ground under a large hole that exposed copper piping, it seemed someone had punched into the wall. There was a twisted and broken metal chair lying in the corner as well, far too destroyed to be of any use as a seat. A few pieces of trash littered the floor and the man caught a glimpse of movement, it was a rat scurrying into its hole.
The place was disgusting and in a serious state of disrepair. The only clean thing in the room was the table on which he now sat, but even that was smudged and dented. He hand rubbed his face and felt an eye patch secured over his left eye. Oh yeah, he had forgotten about that injury. He knew it was supposed to be there but he had no inkling as to how he had gotten it. Then he noticed his clothing. The hell? He was wearing what looked like a neon yellow jumpsuit and black leather work boots. His lungs filled with air, about to call out to whatever stupid fuck thought it was a good idea to leave him in this pigsty, but he was cut off when a woman's robotic voice answered. "Hello. You will be disoriented..."
The man only paid attention to the message part way through. Murder City? That's fuckin rich. This was a joke and a damned stupid one at that. He slid off the table and growled, "Your justice can suck my fat-" Then a woman's sharp scream cut him off. His head turned to the source of the noise and he noticed a very faint line of light. It was the bottom of a door he hadn't seen earlier, shrouded in shadow and shut tight. The man's ears strained to hear anything else. Silence. He began walking to the doorway.
*crash* "Hey! No wait-!" Then there was a gurgle as another man's voice was cut short. Next a thump, a noise he recognized as a body hitting the floor. How he knew that sound so well, the man didn't know, but what he was sure of was that the tussle had originated from a neighboring room. It was closer than the last scream, and that meant he was likely next. His right hand grabbed the twisted metal chair and his ear pressed against the door. A few moments later, he heard footsteps that stopped on the other side. Backing away quickly, the door was suddenly kicked in.
The dim lighting of the room beyond silhouetted what looked like a woman. The TV in the hospital room had already turned off and gave him zero light to make out any features, but what he did see was the shape a very large knife in her left hand. She charged him, frizzled hair flying back, and the knife lunged at his abdomen. The muscular man quickly sidestepped to his right, redirecting her knife hand with his left, and swung the chair around at the attacker. The metal caught her in the back and she fell to the floor, but the girl wasn't down and quickly scrambled to her feet again. She was agile, and he was big. The small room they were brawling in held him at a tactical disadvantage. He needed room to swing and maneuver. Moving towards the door, he shoved the woman back again when she came at him, then ran out into the dimly lit, main foyer. It was illuminated by two bulbs overhead, one was on while the other flickered ominously. Walls held the same cracked and dirtied appearance as the chamber he was previously in, and the tiling was in no better shape.
Movement caught his trained eyes and his head spun to find four more men running in through a main doorway. Shit. There's more. This was getting annoying. He was beginning to wonder if he somehow ended up behind enemy lines. Just as they entered, his assailant walked out of the doorway, and the better lighting gave a much clearer picture of the girl. "What the-?!" his gruffy voice called out. The woman looked like a lunatic. Her medium length, strawberry blonde hair was a tangled mess and her face was distorted, as if she'd been hit with a baseball bat and never bothered to get the bone reconstructed. Around her neck was a necklace of- toes? And three nasty rotting feet were tied to her belt line. She closed the distance to her opponent and slashed at him with her knife again. He was able to dodge, but just barely as one of her swings gave him a cut across his left cheek. He swung the chair down at her but the blasted cunt had rolled. Tile chipped and vibrations reverberated up his arm from the missed swing. GOD dammit!
A woman stumbled out of another doorway, brunette and much better looking than his opponent, but he didn't have time to gawk. She was wearing the same apparel as he was, ugly bright yellow. Then his eyes swung over to one of the newcomers, at the same time the large man had pulled a corked glass orb from a pocket in his military vest. He cocked his arm back. A grenade? His attacker had followed his gaze to the other man, and the projectile flew at the blonde. Reacting quickly, she batted the vial away and sent it careening towards the brunette. Thin glass shattered on impact with her chest and green liquid exploded over her. Screams. She howled and choked on the fumes that surrounded her as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. The strong acid ate away at her clothing and skin, red blood mixing with green to form an ugly rot brown. She collapsed to the floor, still and silent, as the chemicals continued to eat at her body.
Then there was a soft glint of metal. The blonde woman had retaliated against the man in military gear. Her knife left her fingers and lodged into his throat. A stream of red spurted out of his sliced jugular as the thrown blade found it's mark. She watched as he collapsed to the ground, grasping at his throat. That was the opening he was waiting for. Swinging the chair with as much force as he could manage, he connected with the distracted killer. Metal slammed into her temple and she went down, hand holding the bleeding wound. "You bat shit crazy BITCH!" he yelled. She had tried to kill him. Tried to cut him up and wear him like jewelry. But the muscular man was not about to add to her foot fetish. He was pissed. This whole situation was tilted. He didn't know what country he was in or what damned mission had brought him into this hell, but he was getting out. The metal chair came down again and again on the woman, bones snapped and sickening splatters sounded. He didn't forget about the other three, but it didn't matter because it appeared as if they opted to watch rather than attack. He wanted answers. Real fucking answers to what the hell was going on. Why he could recognize every object around him without being able to recall a single detail from his past? It pissed him off. It really pissed him off. So the chair kept coming down until his neon yellow coveralls were nearly dyed red, and the woman's body beneath his hulking frame was just about as mangled as the chair that pummeled her.
Finally, he dropped the weapon. His head pounded, anger and adrenaline had begun turning his vision red. He needed to stop and reassess. Turning towards the three onlookers the man spoke. "Now you fucks had better let me in on whatever the hell is going on around here. I'm pissed. And I am NOT friendly when I'm pissed." He ground his teeth as he stared daggers into the small group.
Gattletowne
The Crowned Light of Midday Night
Kurtus
The big man was impressive. Bloke thought seriously about shooting him. He was dangerous, that much was obvious. But looking like he did, and fighting like he did...maybe he could be useful. Not an Alkie. Bloke doubted he'd have the knack or desire for it, but maybe a thug to hire out? Maybe...or maybe just kill him and be done with it. He pulled his nickel plated .357 and pointed it at the angry man's forehead.
"Bravo. Well played my friend," Bloke's Cockney was thick and likely not authentic, "shame you wake up like this, but the stars shine luck on you it seems. Not luck in the sense that this is all a bad dream and you'll be snacking on Charlie Drake before you know it. No. It's a fucking nightmare and nothing's going to change it. You're in luck because I'm not inclined to take that ring finger of yours just yet."
"Will you kill him so we can get back to the lab? I don't like being out here," one of Bloke's allies said through his vaguely elephant-like gas mask.
"Maybe this one here'll be an investment. Maybe you'll remember us, that we let you live. Maybe you owe us a favor in the future? If not I don't really care. This lot here's a big pull," Bloke nodded toward the bodies, "Socrates, fetch them bones so we can get on."
The elephant-headed Alkie went about collecting the left ring-fingers of the corpses riddled on the floor.
"Get poor Tolly's things too. Leave his clothes, and his ice pick. Big fellow here might make use of them. Leave him Tolly's guide too," he turn his attention back to the eye-patched man,"In there's a map. The market is near St. Lucifer's. Neutral ground. I'll be there in three days. Got a stall all to me lonesome. You survive until then, maybe I have work for ya. We'll see."
The Alkies started to back away from the eye-patched new blood before Bloke stopped suddenly.
"I'm Bloke, by the way. What do I call you?"
The big man was impressive. Bloke thought seriously about shooting him. He was dangerous, that much was obvious. But looking like he did, and fighting like he did...maybe he could be useful. Not an Alkie. Bloke doubted he'd have the knack or desire for it, but maybe a thug to hire out? Maybe...or maybe just kill him and be done with it. He pulled his nickel plated .357 and pointed it at the angry man's forehead.
"Bravo. Well played my friend," Bloke's Cockney was thick and likely not authentic, "shame you wake up like this, but the stars shine luck on you it seems. Not luck in the sense that this is all a bad dream and you'll be snacking on Charlie Drake before you know it. No. It's a fucking nightmare and nothing's going to change it. You're in luck because I'm not inclined to take that ring finger of yours just yet."
"Will you kill him so we can get back to the lab? I don't like being out here," one of Bloke's allies said through his vaguely elephant-like gas mask.
"Maybe this one here'll be an investment. Maybe you'll remember us, that we let you live. Maybe you owe us a favor in the future? If not I don't really care. This lot here's a big pull," Bloke nodded toward the bodies, "Socrates, fetch them bones so we can get on."
The elephant-headed Alkie went about collecting the left ring-fingers of the corpses riddled on the floor.
"Get poor Tolly's things too. Leave his clothes, and his ice pick. Big fellow here might make use of them. Leave him Tolly's guide too," he turn his attention back to the eye-patched man,"In there's a map. The market is near St. Lucifer's. Neutral ground. I'll be there in three days. Got a stall all to me lonesome. You survive until then, maybe I have work for ya. We'll see."
The Alkies started to back away from the eye-patched new blood before Bloke stopped suddenly.
"I'm Bloke, by the way. What do I call you?"
Incognus
:D
Kurtus
The burly man watched with narrowed eyes as the gas mask severed the ring fingers of everyone in the room. Seriously? It seemed like every little shit wanted body parts around here. He didn't understand their actions because he hadn't bothered to pay attention to that part of the broadcast. Damn psychos. The fact that Bloke, What a stupid name, hadn't bothered to explain anything only ticked him off even more. He wanted knock that fake accent right out of his vocabulary. But the revolver held the man at bay. He was close, possibly close enough to slap the gun and lunge at the man. His gaze flicked around the room, from Bloke to Socrates to the unnamed fellow standing guard by the door. The odds were not in his favor, and logic told him that he probably wouldn't survive it. His grey-blue eye stared through the firearm and at Bloke's smug expression. He was holding it wrong. The idiot didn't even know how to properly use a gun. The barrel was angled downwards slightly instead of level, that would keep him from aiming correctly with the iron sights. Not only that but he was limp wirsted and gripped the handle too low. Dumbass. If he was using a magazine pistol there was about a 30% chance that the bullet would get jammed in the chamber from the recoil movement. Lucky thing he has a revolver.
And there it was again. He could recognize the gun type. he knew it was nickel plated and loaded with .375 ammunition. He could recall how to properly hold it for best use and accuracy. He could scan the room and find the best ways out, where to take cover if needed, win a fight with whatever he had on hand. And he could even size up an opponent's skill by just looking and listening to him. How the hell did know all of that without remembering anything? It was infuriating. But then a thought popped into his head. It was small and fleeting but it was there. He was a soldier, no, not quite... He was a mercenary, and a well trained one at that. The man grasped for more, anything that might give him a hint, but it was already gone. All he had was that sliver of knowledge, but it was enough to cool him down a little. At least he knew something, at least he knew his purpose.
Soon, gas mask finished up severing digits, and the freak returned to the front of the room. Apparently he was allowed to keep the dead man's clothes. Military gear, it suited him, and a weapon and a map. When they were done taking everything else from the man's body, the men began to back away.
"I'm Bloke, by the way. What do I call you?"
"Huh?" he replied, "I don't remember my fuckin name." His head surveyed the room, assessing the gorey aftermath while thinking. What the hell was it? He had no idea. Swinging his head back towards the group, he continued in his gravely voice. "Just call me Kurtus for now." It was the first thing that came to mind, but he didn't know why. And after that, the men were gone. He stood there for a moment, wondering if everything had actually happened. Yeah, it did. He was coated in that woman's gore, and the air still smelled like burnt flesh. Jesus, he thought, This is just great.
He needed to change clothes. Tolly's looked to fit and had considerably less blood on them than his current attire. Walking over to the man, Kurtus began to undress him, setting a journal, a piece of parchment, and an ice hook to the side. Soon he had pulled on a pair of camouflage cargo pants, a long sleeve, grey compression shirt, and what looked like an old and worn, dark green flak jacket. He was set, and opted to keep the new black work boots he woke up with. Grabbing his three possessions, the soldier marched over to the main doorway. It was time figure out his location and how to get home, where ever that may be.
The burly man watched with narrowed eyes as the gas mask severed the ring fingers of everyone in the room. Seriously? It seemed like every little shit wanted body parts around here. He didn't understand their actions because he hadn't bothered to pay attention to that part of the broadcast. Damn psychos. The fact that Bloke, What a stupid name, hadn't bothered to explain anything only ticked him off even more. He wanted knock that fake accent right out of his vocabulary. But the revolver held the man at bay. He was close, possibly close enough to slap the gun and lunge at the man. His gaze flicked around the room, from Bloke to Socrates to the unnamed fellow standing guard by the door. The odds were not in his favor, and logic told him that he probably wouldn't survive it. His grey-blue eye stared through the firearm and at Bloke's smug expression. He was holding it wrong. The idiot didn't even know how to properly use a gun. The barrel was angled downwards slightly instead of level, that would keep him from aiming correctly with the iron sights. Not only that but he was limp wirsted and gripped the handle too low. Dumbass. If he was using a magazine pistol there was about a 30% chance that the bullet would get jammed in the chamber from the recoil movement. Lucky thing he has a revolver.
And there it was again. He could recognize the gun type. he knew it was nickel plated and loaded with .375 ammunition. He could recall how to properly hold it for best use and accuracy. He could scan the room and find the best ways out, where to take cover if needed, win a fight with whatever he had on hand. And he could even size up an opponent's skill by just looking and listening to him. How the hell did know all of that without remembering anything? It was infuriating. But then a thought popped into his head. It was small and fleeting but it was there. He was a soldier, no, not quite... He was a mercenary, and a well trained one at that. The man grasped for more, anything that might give him a hint, but it was already gone. All he had was that sliver of knowledge, but it was enough to cool him down a little. At least he knew something, at least he knew his purpose.
Soon, gas mask finished up severing digits, and the freak returned to the front of the room. Apparently he was allowed to keep the dead man's clothes. Military gear, it suited him, and a weapon and a map. When they were done taking everything else from the man's body, the men began to back away.
"I'm Bloke, by the way. What do I call you?"
"Huh?" he replied, "I don't remember my fuckin name." His head surveyed the room, assessing the gorey aftermath while thinking. What the hell was it? He had no idea. Swinging his head back towards the group, he continued in his gravely voice. "Just call me Kurtus for now." It was the first thing that came to mind, but he didn't know why. And after that, the men were gone. He stood there for a moment, wondering if everything had actually happened. Yeah, it did. He was coated in that woman's gore, and the air still smelled like burnt flesh. Jesus, he thought, This is just great.
He needed to change clothes. Tolly's looked to fit and had considerably less blood on them than his current attire. Walking over to the man, Kurtus began to undress him, setting a journal, a piece of parchment, and an ice hook to the side. Soon he had pulled on a pair of camouflage cargo pants, a long sleeve, grey compression shirt, and what looked like an old and worn, dark green flak jacket. He was set, and opted to keep the new black work boots he woke up with. Grabbing his three possessions, the soldier marched over to the main doorway. It was time figure out his location and how to get home, where ever that may be.
Gattletowne
The Crowned Light of Midday Night
Sixty Six (Sigil, Vi, Apollo)
"Stop here," Sixty Six said.
On either side of the small group were what looked like apartment buildings. On the left was a brick building with a slanted, tin roof that looked like something out of the early 20th Centruy, possibly pre-WWI. It was a three story sentinel, windows without glass of any kind. On the right was a structure build out of corregated steel, like someone had unused shipping containers lying around and decided to make a maroon apartment building out of them. Slots for windows had been cut out, and chicken wire substituted glass. It was also three stories high. Jointing the two together, across the pot-hole divited, concrete street was a wall. It was also made of corregated steel, but it was colored blue instead of maroon. There was no obvious way past the wall.
"Past the wall is Cliffside, the neighborhood we control. The way in is only known by a few people. On the other side of the wall is a field of traps. All nasty, all deadly. I laid a few of them myself. If you want in to be safe, to be useful, you have to wear these," Six pulled a wad of black bandannas out of his jacket, selected three, and stuffed the rest away.
"We ask you to do this so you won't have any useful intel to sell to anyone else. There's is a very particular way to navigate this area, and with guidance it's relatively easy. You can do it blindfolded. If you refuse the blindfold, you can wait back down the road with Jess here so you can't watch how we get in. Then you're on your own," he said, "any questions?"
"Stop here," Sixty Six said.
On either side of the small group were what looked like apartment buildings. On the left was a brick building with a slanted, tin roof that looked like something out of the early 20th Centruy, possibly pre-WWI. It was a three story sentinel, windows without glass of any kind. On the right was a structure build out of corregated steel, like someone had unused shipping containers lying around and decided to make a maroon apartment building out of them. Slots for windows had been cut out, and chicken wire substituted glass. It was also three stories high. Jointing the two together, across the pot-hole divited, concrete street was a wall. It was also made of corregated steel, but it was colored blue instead of maroon. There was no obvious way past the wall.
"Past the wall is Cliffside, the neighborhood we control. The way in is only known by a few people. On the other side of the wall is a field of traps. All nasty, all deadly. I laid a few of them myself. If you want in to be safe, to be useful, you have to wear these," Six pulled a wad of black bandannas out of his jacket, selected three, and stuffed the rest away.
"We ask you to do this so you won't have any useful intel to sell to anyone else. There's is a very particular way to navigate this area, and with guidance it's relatively easy. You can do it blindfolded. If you refuse the blindfold, you can wait back down the road with Jess here so you can't watch how we get in. Then you're on your own," he said, "any questions?"
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Morph
Best Villain 2016*
Vi
At the mention of blindfolds, a ghost of a memory flitted across Vi's mind. With it came fear, and an overwhelming desire to run. GET THE FUCK AWAY, she thought. Some echo of her forgotten past, returning to haunt her. Vi grimaced. This memory loss was already infuriating, but knowing that the truth was lurking just beneath the surface made things even worse. Her fear was useless. Anger, however, was an old friend.
"I'm not going to," she said, haltingly at first. As she continued, she tried to project more confidence. "I get why you want us to wear them. But look at me. What am I going to do? Who am I going to tell? I'm nobody and nothing. If not for you I'd already be dead. I'm not... I'm not trying to be contrary. If you give me this, I'll make it up to you however I can. But I'm not wearing a blindfold. Not for anyone."
Fuck, thought Vi the moment she finished. They're so going to kill me.
At the mention of blindfolds, a ghost of a memory flitted across Vi's mind. With it came fear, and an overwhelming desire to run. GET THE FUCK AWAY, she thought. Some echo of her forgotten past, returning to haunt her. Vi grimaced. This memory loss was already infuriating, but knowing that the truth was lurking just beneath the surface made things even worse. Her fear was useless. Anger, however, was an old friend.
"I'm not going to," she said, haltingly at first. As she continued, she tried to project more confidence. "I get why you want us to wear them. But look at me. What am I going to do? Who am I going to tell? I'm nobody and nothing. If not for you I'd already be dead. I'm not... I'm not trying to be contrary. If you give me this, I'll make it up to you however I can. But I'm not wearing a blindfold. Not for anyone."
Fuck, thought Vi the moment she finished. They're so going to kill me.
Gattletowne
The Crowned Light of Midday Night
Vi
"It was nice to meet you," Six said to Vi as he handed the blindfold to Sigil, "Jess here will take you a ways down the street there. He'll give you a knife and a thermos with some cold soup in it. It's not much, but it's a start. If I were you I'd get out of that yellow get-up as soon as you can. It'll be dark soon."
He moved over to Apollo and began to secure a blindfold around his eyes also.
"It's important for you two to keep your right hand on the right shoulder of the person in front of you. One wrong step could lose you a leg, or worse, all your parts. I'd rather not be cleaning death splash off of me tonight, so be careful." He turned to his companion. "Keep her safe, Jess."
Jess nodded slightly, facial expression unchanged. He placed a big hand on Vi's shoulder with just enough pressure to let her know that she was to stay put until further notice.
"Turn around and walk. No questions. Any hesitation and I kill you. It will be slow. Listen and follow instructions, and it will be quick and painless. Soon you will be free," Jess said quietly so only Vi could hear.
"It was nice to meet you," Six said to Vi as he handed the blindfold to Sigil, "Jess here will take you a ways down the street there. He'll give you a knife and a thermos with some cold soup in it. It's not much, but it's a start. If I were you I'd get out of that yellow get-up as soon as you can. It'll be dark soon."
He moved over to Apollo and began to secure a blindfold around his eyes also.
"It's important for you two to keep your right hand on the right shoulder of the person in front of you. One wrong step could lose you a leg, or worse, all your parts. I'd rather not be cleaning death splash off of me tonight, so be careful." He turned to his companion. "Keep her safe, Jess."
Jess nodded slightly, facial expression unchanged. He placed a big hand on Vi's shoulder with just enough pressure to let her know that she was to stay put until further notice.
"Turn around and walk. No questions. Any hesitation and I kill you. It will be slow. Listen and follow instructions, and it will be quick and painless. Soon you will be free," Jess said quietly so only Vi could hear.
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SedentaryCobra
Outhouse Poet
Sigil
The city was quite the shantytown. Sigil craned his head as he walked past the buildings, many of which looked like they had been pulled out of a war zone, some of which were remarkably intact, others were mostly reduced to rubble. He peered down dark alleys, filled with more of the same. On occasion, a body, although more usually a skeleton, lie unburied in the alley. After a while though, the fascination faded. Age and decay took the spark off of what would have been a very intriguing sightseeing trip. Even still, Sigil wondered what could be inside. Every building looked to be stripped to the bone, but there had to be something interesting hidden away somewhere other than these loot crates.
They stopped approaching some more recently made structures, as well as a long wall. So this is the lion's lair, he mused to himself. Walled high, and trapped to the gills. And more still, a blindfold was needed. How intriguing. As he took the blindfold handed to him by Sixty-Six and tied it around his eyes, he spoke to him. "If it's so easy to navigate, it would surely be easily memorized, even in a blindfold You'd be better off with a drug. I'm sure you could find some plant around here and distill it to near coma inducing levels." Did the words come from experience, wiped away by whatever brought him here? Perhaps. It amused him in some morbid way, to think that that was something he did in his former life.
With little pause, he resumed. "At any rate, let's continue, shall we? Onward into the den of the soundless." Only the one other, the magician Apollo, would follow them in. The other would part. He wondered if his assumptions about what would happen were true. He would wait to see.
The city was quite the shantytown. Sigil craned his head as he walked past the buildings, many of which looked like they had been pulled out of a war zone, some of which were remarkably intact, others were mostly reduced to rubble. He peered down dark alleys, filled with more of the same. On occasion, a body, although more usually a skeleton, lie unburied in the alley. After a while though, the fascination faded. Age and decay took the spark off of what would have been a very intriguing sightseeing trip. Even still, Sigil wondered what could be inside. Every building looked to be stripped to the bone, but there had to be something interesting hidden away somewhere other than these loot crates.
They stopped approaching some more recently made structures, as well as a long wall. So this is the lion's lair, he mused to himself. Walled high, and trapped to the gills. And more still, a blindfold was needed. How intriguing. As he took the blindfold handed to him by Sixty-Six and tied it around his eyes, he spoke to him. "If it's so easy to navigate, it would surely be easily memorized, even in a blindfold You'd be better off with a drug. I'm sure you could find some plant around here and distill it to near coma inducing levels." Did the words come from experience, wiped away by whatever brought him here? Perhaps. It amused him in some morbid way, to think that that was something he did in his former life.
With little pause, he resumed. "At any rate, let's continue, shall we? Onward into the den of the soundless." Only the one other, the magician Apollo, would follow them in. The other would part. He wondered if his assumptions about what would happen were true. He would wait to see.
Gattletowne
The Crowned Light of Midday Night
Sigil
"We tried drugs. I personally don't like carrying people. And the steps aren't the trick of it, but I've already said too much. You're a clever one. Christ is going to like you. That's not necessarily a good thing," Six said as he pulled tight on the knot to make sure it was secure.
"Let's move. Keep your balance and keep your hand on the shoulder in front of you and you'll be okay," he said.
"We tried drugs. I personally don't like carrying people. And the steps aren't the trick of it, but I've already said too much. You're a clever one. Christ is going to like you. That's not necessarily a good thing," Six said as he pulled tight on the knot to make sure it was secure.
"Let's move. Keep your balance and keep your hand on the shoulder in front of you and you'll be okay," he said.
Morph
Best Villain 2016*
Vi
What could she do? She turned around and walked, following Jess's instructions.
Vi wondered briefly if Sixty Six knew he'd left her to die. He'd let that Natalie girl go, after all. Maybe... no, he had no idea. That was why Jess was walking her away. Hell, she'd have probably done the same thing. Six was nice enough, but from what she'd seen of this place, nice didn't seem to get you very far. And she knew what Jess was thinking. Why let her walk away and get killed by somebody else when he could take her finger right now? Six would never know.
Jess's hand lifted off her shoulder, and she heard a sword sliding from its scabbard. She closed her eyes. She was a bit disappointed that she hadn't been able to spend more time here. Murder City was... fascinating. Truly fascinating.
Then a puzzle piece in her mind clicked into place, and she gasped.
"Wait, I--"
...
..
.
What could she do? She turned around and walked, following Jess's instructions.
Vi wondered briefly if Sixty Six knew he'd left her to die. He'd let that Natalie girl go, after all. Maybe... no, he had no idea. That was why Jess was walking her away. Hell, she'd have probably done the same thing. Six was nice enough, but from what she'd seen of this place, nice didn't seem to get you very far. And she knew what Jess was thinking. Why let her walk away and get killed by somebody else when he could take her finger right now? Six would never know.
Jess's hand lifted off her shoulder, and she heard a sword sliding from its scabbard. She closed her eyes. She was a bit disappointed that she hadn't been able to spend more time here. Murder City was... fascinating. Truly fascinating.
Then a puzzle piece in her mind clicked into place, and she gasped.
"Wait, I--"
...
..
.
ArQane
With blood comes life, with life comes death.
Natalie Trace [ME]
Natalie got up with a jolt. She had not been awake for more than several seeconds, and was lying there blissfully as she snoozed under the warm cloth that covered her. It was cozy, and she nearly fell back to sleep without a moment's hesitation.
That's when she remembered. The rotting corpse of the fat man, the dystopian city environment, the knife she was still clutching in her hand... If she wasn't careful, she could have her throat slit in her sleep. Her surroundings were unclear, masked in the darkness of the night. She fumbled around frantically, trying to determine where she was.
Stop Natalie, think. She folded the neon yellow pants up neatly and placed it in middle of the shirt, which she then used the sleeves to secure both items tightly around her back. You are in Murder City, and you took a nap in an inconspicuous gap in the building.
The hunger was coming back, and she thought she could eat anything she could get her hands on, as long as it was edible. The sky was now approaching shade of black, and she couldn't have slept more than three hours. Knife in hand, she quietly descended down the stairs and exited the building.
There was no sign of movement outside, though Natalie expected a bit more movement in the night. From here, she was quite unsure of how to approach the situation.
If her luck worked once, maybe it would again. The buildings obviously had leftover items in them; perhaps another kitchen would have some food. As mad as it sounded, Natalie knew she was thin on options.
The more buildings Natalie scoured, the the increasingly apparent that Natalie couldn't hit the jackpot twice. They were difficult to search and seemingly worthless in value. It was almost as if someone was watching her and, as a warped joke, decided to raise her hopes up by having her luck out on her first attempt. Beginner's luck. Hilarious.
It was on maybe her fifth building that Natalie decided to give up. She was tired, and hungry, and certainly not in a good mood. She headed back out on the streets, freezing as she did. Even in the darkness of the night, she could easily identify the neon yellow clothing that was identical to the ones she had. Sixty-Six's term for their wearers rang in her head. New Bloods. The figure, who hasn't noticed her yet, was approaching her at a steady speed.
The gait, the careless nature of the person's position... It was less than inexperienced. It was naivete. However, this to Natalie was excellent news. Perhaps it was some food, or a better weapon-- maybe a gun. Natalie paused on the thought. She had just contemplated about murdering someone without a second thought. Was the need for survival turning her, in less than a day, into a fully functioning killing machine? She shook off the thought, due to the return of the stabbing hunger. By now, the figure was much closer, and she could clearly see his features.
He was a young man, somewhere in his mid twenties, making him around the same age as her. He had a rather long face but, other than that, he was quite attractive. He seemed to have noticed her. Noticed something rather, because he was squinting to get a clearer picture. Natalie's eyes were already adjusted to the dark by now, but he must have either just woke up or been under a lit area. At this point, there was little places to run.
"Hello?" She called out. The man jolted, and immediately braced himself to run. "Wait!"
He paused. The feminine voice was enough to keep him grounded, for a moment. Natalie didn't approach, knowing that he would be alarmed if she did. By his height and slender shape, it was clear that he probably was a faster runner than she was, and she didn't dare risk losing her target. She stood there, hands raised, and he surveyed her. The man seemed to be able to see her clearer, and relaxed as he realized his opponent was not a threat.
"You're new right?" She asked. "I think the clothes indicate that."
He didn't reply.
"Well, I'm new too." She continued, untying her pair from her back and showing it to him. "I don't know what is happening around here but I'm scared and alone... I just want to--" her voice cracked. "I just want to go home."
He sighed. "I don't know what is happening either. I suddenly woke up in some weird room and shit, but I can't remember anything. The place was weird as fuck I just got the fuck out of there."
So it is the same for everyone.
"Well," she said, "maybe we can, you know, work together. I don't know what's out there but I'm sure it would be better with the two of us."
He seemed to like the possibility, but seemed uncertain still. He must've realized something was off. She smiled, seeing the opportunity. He interpreted this as a friendly gesture, and smiled awkwardly back at her.
"How about this," she said. "You can pat me down, and then we can search for some food and shelter, and hopefully we can contact someone for help." She raised her arms up, inviting him to pat her down. He approached with little caution.
It was until he was only a couple feet away before she moved. Drawing the knife swiftly out of her pocket, she lunged with it point first towards his chest. He noticed this and reacted, shoving her backwards, but it was too late.
Natalie fell on the ground, but there was a glistening coat of blood covering the knife. She picked herself up, and saw the man laying flat on his back, writhing around and choking on his own blood
She winced. She had missed the clean kill when he threw her off balance, and his prolonged death was the consequence of her blunder. His injury put his body to a stage beyond repair; even if Natalie had all the medical equipment that existed in the world, there was nothing at this point that can mend the lethal wound. Natalie crawled next to his body, her shoulder throbbing from her fall.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, before plunging the knife back into his throat, completely removing his ability to breathe. He died instantly.
Natalie inhaled deeply and held her breath as she extracted the ring finger from the rest of his hand. The smell was already putrid and quite unpleasant. After she sawed his NG off, she immediately backed away, surveying the body. It was now disfigured, and his handsome features were gone, replaced by a frozen gaze of fear and shock.
She clutched the finger tightly, and crouched back down next to the corpse, removing it of its clothes. It had no other objects on it. She bundled the new set of neon yellow clothing with the ones she already had, tying them in the same fashion as her's were before she met the man. She stowed the knife away into her back pocket and walked away from the dead body.
Natalie got up with a jolt. She had not been awake for more than several seeconds, and was lying there blissfully as she snoozed under the warm cloth that covered her. It was cozy, and she nearly fell back to sleep without a moment's hesitation.
That's when she remembered. The rotting corpse of the fat man, the dystopian city environment, the knife she was still clutching in her hand... If she wasn't careful, she could have her throat slit in her sleep. Her surroundings were unclear, masked in the darkness of the night. She fumbled around frantically, trying to determine where she was.
Stop Natalie, think. She folded the neon yellow pants up neatly and placed it in middle of the shirt, which she then used the sleeves to secure both items tightly around her back. You are in Murder City, and you took a nap in an inconspicuous gap in the building.
The hunger was coming back, and she thought she could eat anything she could get her hands on, as long as it was edible. The sky was now approaching shade of black, and she couldn't have slept more than three hours. Knife in hand, she quietly descended down the stairs and exited the building.
There was no sign of movement outside, though Natalie expected a bit more movement in the night. From here, she was quite unsure of how to approach the situation.
If her luck worked once, maybe it would again. The buildings obviously had leftover items in them; perhaps another kitchen would have some food. As mad as it sounded, Natalie knew she was thin on options.
The more buildings Natalie scoured, the the increasingly apparent that Natalie couldn't hit the jackpot twice. They were difficult to search and seemingly worthless in value. It was almost as if someone was watching her and, as a warped joke, decided to raise her hopes up by having her luck out on her first attempt. Beginner's luck. Hilarious.
It was on maybe her fifth building that Natalie decided to give up. She was tired, and hungry, and certainly not in a good mood. She headed back out on the streets, freezing as she did. Even in the darkness of the night, she could easily identify the neon yellow clothing that was identical to the ones she had. Sixty-Six's term for their wearers rang in her head. New Bloods. The figure, who hasn't noticed her yet, was approaching her at a steady speed.
The gait, the careless nature of the person's position... It was less than inexperienced. It was naivete. However, this to Natalie was excellent news. Perhaps it was some food, or a better weapon-- maybe a gun. Natalie paused on the thought. She had just contemplated about murdering someone without a second thought. Was the need for survival turning her, in less than a day, into a fully functioning killing machine? She shook off the thought, due to the return of the stabbing hunger. By now, the figure was much closer, and she could clearly see his features.
He was a young man, somewhere in his mid twenties, making him around the same age as her. He had a rather long face but, other than that, he was quite attractive. He seemed to have noticed her. Noticed something rather, because he was squinting to get a clearer picture. Natalie's eyes were already adjusted to the dark by now, but he must have either just woke up or been under a lit area. At this point, there was little places to run.
"Hello?" She called out. The man jolted, and immediately braced himself to run. "Wait!"
He paused. The feminine voice was enough to keep him grounded, for a moment. Natalie didn't approach, knowing that he would be alarmed if she did. By his height and slender shape, it was clear that he probably was a faster runner than she was, and she didn't dare risk losing her target. She stood there, hands raised, and he surveyed her. The man seemed to be able to see her clearer, and relaxed as he realized his opponent was not a threat.
"You're new right?" She asked. "I think the clothes indicate that."
He didn't reply.
"Well, I'm new too." She continued, untying her pair from her back and showing it to him. "I don't know what is happening around here but I'm scared and alone... I just want to--" her voice cracked. "I just want to go home."
He sighed. "I don't know what is happening either. I suddenly woke up in some weird room and shit, but I can't remember anything. The place was weird as fuck I just got the fuck out of there."
So it is the same for everyone.
"Well," she said, "maybe we can, you know, work together. I don't know what's out there but I'm sure it would be better with the two of us."
He seemed to like the possibility, but seemed uncertain still. He must've realized something was off. She smiled, seeing the opportunity. He interpreted this as a friendly gesture, and smiled awkwardly back at her.
"How about this," she said. "You can pat me down, and then we can search for some food and shelter, and hopefully we can contact someone for help." She raised her arms up, inviting him to pat her down. He approached with little caution.
It was until he was only a couple feet away before she moved. Drawing the knife swiftly out of her pocket, she lunged with it point first towards his chest. He noticed this and reacted, shoving her backwards, but it was too late.
Natalie fell on the ground, but there was a glistening coat of blood covering the knife. She picked herself up, and saw the man laying flat on his back, writhing around and choking on his own blood
She winced. She had missed the clean kill when he threw her off balance, and his prolonged death was the consequence of her blunder. His injury put his body to a stage beyond repair; even if Natalie had all the medical equipment that existed in the world, there was nothing at this point that can mend the lethal wound. Natalie crawled next to his body, her shoulder throbbing from her fall.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, before plunging the knife back into his throat, completely removing his ability to breathe. He died instantly.
Natalie inhaled deeply and held her breath as she extracted the ring finger from the rest of his hand. The smell was already putrid and quite unpleasant. After she sawed his NG off, she immediately backed away, surveying the body. It was now disfigured, and his handsome features were gone, replaced by a frozen gaze of fear and shock.
She clutched the finger tightly, and crouched back down next to the corpse, removing it of its clothes. It had no other objects on it. She bundled the new set of neon yellow clothing with the ones she already had, tying them in the same fashion as her's were before she met the man. She stowed the knife away into her back pocket and walked away from the dead body.
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Revelree
Heartbreaker
Rouge
Darkness. It hurt. Something was holding her down. At the distance she could hear crying. But it felt so far, so fleeting. She wanted to move. She wanted to get away. But the grasp on her wrist was tight. Too tight. Then she saw red. Someone yelled and cursed at her. Someone pulled at her hair. Then she was falling, falling, falling…
She opened her eyes. Blank. There’s a monitor overhead, flashing different colored lights. As each color passed, she named the color in her head. Red, blue, yellow, green, white, purple, black… Her mind started to drift away. Was was that dream? She couldn’t remember. It was terrifying. Or was it? What was that? Where is she? Who is she?
“Hello. You will be disoriented…” the monitor started. She stared obediently at the screen, silent, blank. Like a doll, looking up obediently for orders. She was far too dazed to make sense of everything around her. Far too gone. “Welcome to Murder City. Your fellow sinners await your arrival.” The feminine voice ended, the monitor turning black. She stared at it for a minute, two… until she felt it, a swelling of anger inside her chest. Where is she? A prison? No… no, please, heavens, no… not again. Not again ---
Eh? Not again? She tilted her head, an unnatural calmness passing through her being, wondering. Something at the back of her head told her this situation has happened before, waking up to a room and finding herself unable to leave. But the memory was so faint that it disappeared soon right after. And she was staring at the monitor again, blankly.
Slowly, she stood up, feeling everything for the first time. The cold hard table underneath her, the harsh feeling of fabric against her skin… she glanced down at her body, relieved that she was at least clothed. The neon yellow coveralls and the boots were no fashion statement, but it more than enough to make her feel a little warm and safe. She looked around uneasily, almost nervously. What is this place? Why is she here? Is there a way out? To her relief, she saw it: a door that seems to be leading outside. It didn’t look like it was locked. Surely she can get out---
The colors on the monitor booted up again, startling her as the artificial female voice started once more. “Hello. You will be disoriented…” This time, she listened more attentively, trying to make sense of the words. The voice claimed she is here to die. The voice claimed she is a sinner. The voice claimed it is a punishment. She stared at it, dumbstruck, unable to believe what she was hearing. Fear erupted inside her, bubbling out. She felt like she was going to throw up. What is this? Why is this happening? Me? I’ll die? Me?
She stared at the floor. Blank. Motionless.
And then a small smile tugged at the edge of her lips as the monitor booted up once more, spewing the same absurdity. Soon enough she was giggling, and then a full blown laugh erupted from her lips, echoing within the walls of her chamber. It was a manic laugh, a laugh that made her clutch at her stomach, unable to breathe. “Me? I’ll die? Me?” she laughed even harder, getting down from the table and letting her feet touch the floor. “DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH!” With a force brought on probably by adrenaline alone, she picked up the nearest blunt object and, not even looking what it is, threw it at the monitor with such force that it cracked the screen. It made a large crash, debris falling down all over her.“TRY AND KILL ME! I WON’T BACK DOWN! NEVER!” Suddenly, she paused. The monitor is broken. Seeing the damage, she relaxed, her laugh transforming into a ladylike chuckle. “I won’t die. Because! I’ll get out of here. I’ll get out of here… and then… I’ll be happy… I’ll be happy...” She walked to the door out, stumbling a little, holding herself to the wall. She felt something damp flow down against her cheeks, but when she touched it, her hand came away clear. Was that… tears? “Silly me.” She murmured to herself. “Getting freaked out.” She wiped away her tears, smiling encouragingly at herself. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get out. This place is creepy.” She touched the door, bracing to open it.
“Welco…me… to Mur…der City.” the broken monitor croaked behind her. “Your fellow… sin…ners… await… your.. arri..val.”
She looked behind her and smiled. “Really? That’s amazing. If they come out and get me…” she heaved, opening the path towards her new world.
“Then I can kill them sooner… right?”
Darkness. It hurt. Something was holding her down. At the distance she could hear crying. But it felt so far, so fleeting. She wanted to move. She wanted to get away. But the grasp on her wrist was tight. Too tight. Then she saw red. Someone yelled and cursed at her. Someone pulled at her hair. Then she was falling, falling, falling…
She opened her eyes. Blank. There’s a monitor overhead, flashing different colored lights. As each color passed, she named the color in her head. Red, blue, yellow, green, white, purple, black… Her mind started to drift away. Was was that dream? She couldn’t remember. It was terrifying. Or was it? What was that? Where is she? Who is she?
“Hello. You will be disoriented…” the monitor started. She stared obediently at the screen, silent, blank. Like a doll, looking up obediently for orders. She was far too dazed to make sense of everything around her. Far too gone. “Welcome to Murder City. Your fellow sinners await your arrival.” The feminine voice ended, the monitor turning black. She stared at it for a minute, two… until she felt it, a swelling of anger inside her chest. Where is she? A prison? No… no, please, heavens, no… not again. Not again ---
Eh? Not again? She tilted her head, an unnatural calmness passing through her being, wondering. Something at the back of her head told her this situation has happened before, waking up to a room and finding herself unable to leave. But the memory was so faint that it disappeared soon right after. And she was staring at the monitor again, blankly.
Slowly, she stood up, feeling everything for the first time. The cold hard table underneath her, the harsh feeling of fabric against her skin… she glanced down at her body, relieved that she was at least clothed. The neon yellow coveralls and the boots were no fashion statement, but it more than enough to make her feel a little warm and safe. She looked around uneasily, almost nervously. What is this place? Why is she here? Is there a way out? To her relief, she saw it: a door that seems to be leading outside. It didn’t look like it was locked. Surely she can get out---
The colors on the monitor booted up again, startling her as the artificial female voice started once more. “Hello. You will be disoriented…” This time, she listened more attentively, trying to make sense of the words. The voice claimed she is here to die. The voice claimed she is a sinner. The voice claimed it is a punishment. She stared at it, dumbstruck, unable to believe what she was hearing. Fear erupted inside her, bubbling out. She felt like she was going to throw up. What is this? Why is this happening? Me? I’ll die? Me?
She stared at the floor. Blank. Motionless.
And then a small smile tugged at the edge of her lips as the monitor booted up once more, spewing the same absurdity. Soon enough she was giggling, and then a full blown laugh erupted from her lips, echoing within the walls of her chamber. It was a manic laugh, a laugh that made her clutch at her stomach, unable to breathe. “Me? I’ll die? Me?” she laughed even harder, getting down from the table and letting her feet touch the floor. “DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH!” With a force brought on probably by adrenaline alone, she picked up the nearest blunt object and, not even looking what it is, threw it at the monitor with such force that it cracked the screen. It made a large crash, debris falling down all over her.“TRY AND KILL ME! I WON’T BACK DOWN! NEVER!” Suddenly, she paused. The monitor is broken. Seeing the damage, she relaxed, her laugh transforming into a ladylike chuckle. “I won’t die. Because! I’ll get out of here. I’ll get out of here… and then… I’ll be happy… I’ll be happy...” She walked to the door out, stumbling a little, holding herself to the wall. She felt something damp flow down against her cheeks, but when she touched it, her hand came away clear. Was that… tears? “Silly me.” She murmured to herself. “Getting freaked out.” She wiped away her tears, smiling encouragingly at herself. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get out. This place is creepy.” She touched the door, bracing to open it.
“Welco…me… to Mur…der City.” the broken monitor croaked behind her. “Your fellow… sin…ners… await… your.. arri..val.”
She looked behind her and smiled. “Really? That’s amazing. If they come out and get me…” she heaved, opening the path towards her new world.
“Then I can kill them sooner… right?”
Gattletowne
The Crowned Light of Midday Night
Rouge
Poet was becoming impatient. Waiting was irksome enough, but waiting while dressed in such hideous yellow fare was completely intolerable. Who would make someone wear such nonsense? Fascists, clearly, and not the ironic kind. People who hate life.
Poet loved life. At least his own, anyway. As far as anyone else? Eehh. He only liked others as long as he could extract amusement from them. Otherwise...ehh.
A cacophony erupted from behind the door of the furthest chamber. Finally, someone had been taking longer than he thought polite. He loved an opportunity to correct the shortcomings of others.
Glass was broken and metal groaned. Then laughing? It was maniacal. Interesting, he thought. Broken people were fun people in his opinion, until they weren't anymore. He moved quietly down the hallway. The door swung out and through it came...a beautiful girl. He smiled too wide, showed too many teeth. He wasn't concerned with his unnerving rudeness. All he could think of was the possibilities this one presented. The possibilities.
"Why hello dear lass, and might I ask, the name you've chose my summer rose?"
Poet was becoming impatient. Waiting was irksome enough, but waiting while dressed in such hideous yellow fare was completely intolerable. Who would make someone wear such nonsense? Fascists, clearly, and not the ironic kind. People who hate life.
Poet loved life. At least his own, anyway. As far as anyone else? Eehh. He only liked others as long as he could extract amusement from them. Otherwise...ehh.
A cacophony erupted from behind the door of the furthest chamber. Finally, someone had been taking longer than he thought polite. He loved an opportunity to correct the shortcomings of others.
Glass was broken and metal groaned. Then laughing? It was maniacal. Interesting, he thought. Broken people were fun people in his opinion, until they weren't anymore. He moved quietly down the hallway. The door swung out and through it came...a beautiful girl. He smiled too wide, showed too many teeth. He wasn't concerned with his unnerving rudeness. All he could think of was the possibilities this one presented. The possibilities.
"Why hello dear lass, and might I ask, the name you've chose my summer rose?"
Revelree
Heartbreaker
Rouge
The girl didn’t know what she expected to see behind the door. Perhaps she didn’t expect anything at all. As the heat of the moment of breaking the monitor left her, she stepped outside, her blue eyes darting around the place, taking in details and noting things about this new place she’s been dumped into. The place looked like it has seen better days. The walls and floor was stained with something red. Some have dried and some still fresh, and the tinge of a rusty smell in the air confirmed to her what it is.
Blood.
She thought she will feel afraid. Quite the opposite. The scene was familiar, almost comforting. Beautiful, even. Despite the tension in the air telling her this place has been a house of many murders, she felt relaxed. Why shouldn’t she? After all, she knows it, right? In her gut, she knows it has always been that way. To live is to kill. To live is to kill. To live is…
"Why hello dear lass, and might I ask, the name you've chose my summer rose?"
... to kill.
A guy stood into her notice, brandishing a big smile on his face. All his teeth was showing, it was annoying to look at. Half his head is shaved. He wore piercings. Skinny, lanky, the yellow coveralls looked hideous on him. But that smile… for some reason it sent a sinking feeling on her gut. Why? she wondered. The monitor said people here are sinners, did he so something too? Is he a bad person? Is he planning to kill her?
The last question in her head made her tense, but the guy seemed friendly enough, at least. So as not to be rude, she replied. “Name? I am…” she paused, trying to remember, only to come up with nothing. Nervously, she pushed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, only to have her attention drawn to it. She had no idea what she looked like, but the strands were red. Red… like the walls around and the floor below. Red like the blood she’ll soon paint the man in front of her. A stray thought from nowhere gave her an idea. Red is Rouge… right?
She smiled. It was a sweet, gentle and almost shy smile. She replied honestly. “I can’t really remember my name, but you can call me Rouge if you like.” She bit her lip uneasily. “To be honest, I’m still a little lost on what to do or why I’m here. Do you know, mister?”
The girl didn’t know what she expected to see behind the door. Perhaps she didn’t expect anything at all. As the heat of the moment of breaking the monitor left her, she stepped outside, her blue eyes darting around the place, taking in details and noting things about this new place she’s been dumped into. The place looked like it has seen better days. The walls and floor was stained with something red. Some have dried and some still fresh, and the tinge of a rusty smell in the air confirmed to her what it is.
Blood.
She thought she will feel afraid. Quite the opposite. The scene was familiar, almost comforting. Beautiful, even. Despite the tension in the air telling her this place has been a house of many murders, she felt relaxed. Why shouldn’t she? After all, she knows it, right? In her gut, she knows it has always been that way. To live is to kill. To live is to kill. To live is…
"Why hello dear lass, and might I ask, the name you've chose my summer rose?"
... to kill.
A guy stood into her notice, brandishing a big smile on his face. All his teeth was showing, it was annoying to look at. Half his head is shaved. He wore piercings. Skinny, lanky, the yellow coveralls looked hideous on him. But that smile… for some reason it sent a sinking feeling on her gut. Why? she wondered. The monitor said people here are sinners, did he so something too? Is he a bad person? Is he planning to kill her?
The last question in her head made her tense, but the guy seemed friendly enough, at least. So as not to be rude, she replied. “Name? I am…” she paused, trying to remember, only to come up with nothing. Nervously, she pushed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, only to have her attention drawn to it. She had no idea what she looked like, but the strands were red. Red… like the walls around and the floor below. Red like the blood she’ll soon paint the man in front of her. A stray thought from nowhere gave her an idea. Red is Rouge… right?
She smiled. It was a sweet, gentle and almost shy smile. She replied honestly. “I can’t really remember my name, but you can call me Rouge if you like.” She bit her lip uneasily. “To be honest, I’m still a little lost on what to do or why I’m here. Do you know, mister?”
Gattletowne
The Crowned Light of Midday Night
Rouge
Coy. He liked coy, and hated it. It infuriated him, he considered it patronizing, but it worked so well on him. His red summer rose was sweet. That earlier laughter suggested something else. It suggested thorns.
"I am brand new, just like you," Poet said, "this place is red, so wrong and red. It reeks like the dead. Rouge is red. You are so very alive, not at all like the dead. So you must be good, wouldn't hurt you if I could."
Rhyming was becoming exhausting. He hoped he could keep it up, but he was Poet. Poet, he told himself. Poet had rules. Rules had to be followed. After she wasn't amusing anymore he'd change. Poet would die, and so would these fucking rhymes.
Coy. He liked coy, and hated it. It infuriated him, he considered it patronizing, but it worked so well on him. His red summer rose was sweet. That earlier laughter suggested something else. It suggested thorns.
"I am brand new, just like you," Poet said, "this place is red, so wrong and red. It reeks like the dead. Rouge is red. You are so very alive, not at all like the dead. So you must be good, wouldn't hurt you if I could."
Rhyming was becoming exhausting. He hoped he could keep it up, but he was Poet. Poet, he told himself. Poet had rules. Rules had to be followed. After she wasn't amusing anymore he'd change. Poet would die, and so would these fucking rhymes.