City of The Damned

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Absinthe, Jan 12, 2014.

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  1. Angel was woken from a light doze by the crackling of the radio beside the sofa that currently was serving for bed. Sleep was elusive to say the least, but as the transmission began to come through, she decided that she hadn't really been to sleep in the first place. It was enough to send chills through her spine as she fumbled with her boots, stolen from a Officer when her old pair began letting the water and the cold in. She had her jacket zipped up and the second gun in her holster when the shouting really started. She grabbed the radio without thinking, taking the steps two, three at a time before breaking into a sprint.

    Not the school. A school was something she'd worked too hard for too long to let go of now, and she was sure as hell wasn't going to let those bastard sons of bitches use it as target practice. Children were sure to bring out support, but Rose didn't care; she'd kill each and everyone of them herself if she had to, or die trying. It wasn't until she heard the distant shots that she realized just how hopeless all this was, but something drove her on still. The screams were lost on her, blocked out by sheer force of formidable will. She wouldn't, she couldn't...

    The sight that was left for her was enough to make the entire room spin. Her stomach clenched and twisted violently. Her legs were turning to jelly. She was losing sensation in her fingers... She turned quickly, just about making it outside before she emptied the less than substantial contents of her stomach onto the ground outside. She rested a hand against the wall to steady herself, letting her hair obscure her face. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, screwing up her eyes in an attempt not to cry. She was Angel for Pete's sake, but this was enough even to crack the iciest of exteriors. 60 kids between 6 and 14, three teachers not a whole lot older than that.

    Angel tried to steady her breathing by taking a deep steady, albeit still shaky breaths. Someone inquired as to if she was okay, another simply patted her on the back. Who could remain indifferent to a massacre like this? Not her, that was for sure.​
     


  2. Hannah Sullivan
    Desperation Dawns
    Hannah Sullivan rocked her body gently back and forth in her make-shift hammock, the toe of her heavy, black combat boot being the only part of her touching the floor and tethering her to reality. She furrowed her brow and chewed softly on the side of her cheek as her eyes furiously passed over the words printed on the pages of a book. The cover of the book was missing, the pages were brown and crinkled, but she loved it as if it were brand new. Hannah always tried to gather books from the deserted buildings and homes she rummaged through. Normally she found Bibles, sleazy romance novels or self-help books; none of which held much value in her mind or in the current state of the world.

    However, in her most recent crash pad she had found someone who once had quite great literary taste; something she could actually identify with, yet get lost in. A tale of vampire warriors with black daggers, wearing all leather and large, black combat boots they called "shitkickers".
    Shitkickers, she mused to herself. She liked that. She glanced down at her own worn boots, turning her ankle slightly as she inspected them. Shitkickers indeed; she immediately adopted the label.

    The wall to the outside of the apartment was completely destroyed, giving Hannah a soft breeze as the weather was cooling off for the night and a bird's eye view of the ruins below. Suddenly her eyes focused on something in the distance, on the ground level. Officers from Society skittering and scattering in a frenzied manner. They seemed to be retreating back to their kingdom. Hannah's stomach felt unsettled. Was this a recon mission? Or had she missed something while she had been completely engrossed in her book?
    With a quick burst she was up on her feet, stuffing the book into her leather bag and collecting her bow and arrow.

    The sun was settling in to the arms of the horizon, normally this sight would be sought after and embraced. But to Hannah it meant danger. Looters, gangs, and other such riff-raff were much more likely to present themselves in the shadows than the daylight. With quiet bursts of speed, she dodged in and out of the ruins until she reached the originating position of the Officers. Her bow and arrow was drawn as she turned the corner, revealing an abandoned school house.

    She lowered her weapon immediately as she peered through a broken window. At least three people were already present and gawking at the massacre that lay before them. Lifeless bodies crumpled on the ground; over, under, on top of each other. Defenseless. One viewer turned and ran outside before letting out a gut-clenching groan. Two others joined her. Hannah stepped out from the shadows, her trigger finger still tensing slightly against her arrow as she surveyed the group.

    "Killing kids?" she stated, not so much a question. "Sounds like desperation to me."
    She paused, before introducing herself to the small group, "I'm Hannah... Who are you?"
     
    #2 Cortexiphan Girl, Jan 13, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 13, 2014
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  3. Sport, judging by the books and films left behind by their predecessors, wasn't something they expected to survive in a world like this. They called it dystopian; Gabriel called it life. Although it had waned for a while, as people had more important things to worry about, for example food, it eventually was recognized as a way to increase strength and fitness, to replace less savory past times, and eventually as a way to forge new friendships and diffuse tensions. A lot of rules had been forgotten and new ones added, but the heart of rugby was still there, alive and kicking. Although not traditionally an American sport, at least not that the man known as Giant knew, it shared similar traits with an old game of theirs, and so took to it like ducks to water. Things looked a lot better when children started laughing again.

    A boy he knew as Jet stood frozen on the middle of the street as by some miracle, the ball fell into his arms. He wasn't playing because he really wanted to; his siblings and his friends were all playing, and he didn't think he had an option. He wasn't exactly built for such a rough and tumble game either, scrawny and long everywhere. But he was a nice kid, and encouragement flowed easily from his lips. The boy began to run towards him with the ball, keeping a wary eye of the others beginning to gain on him, all much better players than he was. But then, there the giant was, working up into a run towards him. It was his turn on the other team, and he didn't usually try too hard; after all, he was a proper player of the game. But it was too late to stop, and Jet screwed his eyes closed and served, hoping to avoid a collision. There was a rather loud thud as muscle hit tarmac, a moment of astonished silence, before cheers erupted around him. Jet looked down to see that he was past the touchline, the ball still cradled in his arms, and Gabriel slowly getting back to his feet. He put the ball on the ground to award his team the winning try, and to be embraced by congratulated by his peers. Nobody had ever got past Gabriel like that, if they got in his way, he'd scoop them up and gently tease them before putting them back down, but he'd somehow managed to get past him. He was the hero of the hour, and Gabriel couldn't help but feel proud of him.

    It was a familiar and determined looking streak that caught his eye, removing all of the warm, fuzzy feelings in one terrified look. He barked orders to the kids to head home before dark, before he took after Rose, realizing in horror moment too late where she headed with such urgency. There was nothing to say to her as they look in the sight of the schoolhouse, or whatever remained of it. Blood and small bodies everywhere... Quite literally everywhere. Kids that wanted to learn instead of fooling around with him on the streets. Gabriel was in nothing less than complete shock, snapped out of it only when the woman he'd followed turned on her heel and brushed against him, on the edge of tears.

    Gabriel wasn't surprised to find her chucking up outside moments later. She looked how he felt. He rubbed her back gently before he crouched down to her, low enough to catch the expression on her face. He sighed heavily, knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask, and instead asking her something a little more sensible than asking her how she was.
    "Do you want to stay at mine tonight?" His voice was soft, gentle and not pushing her to accept. Just an offer from a friend to a friend.

    It was a footstep that drew him back up to his full height, wishing he'd brought his cricket bat. A blonde woman was standing a short distance away, a loaded bow in her hands. Gabriel look a step to protect his prone friend, studying the woman, and her weapon with cautious eyes. There were a handful of people using ancient weapons like hers, most of whom he knew by name.
    "Killing kids? Sounds like desperation to me."

    Shock was giving way to anger, and Gabriel was in no mood to humor this girl if she was looking for trouble. "A massive blow to enemy morale, while cutting down on the number of potential new enemy numbers, all with a low risk factor. Children don't fight back too hard after all. It would be almost idiotic not to seek out a target like this." It was an automatic response, cold and borderline robotic. One couldn't be too careful, especially after something like this. He nodded stiffly as she offered her name; it wasn't like a threat was going to introduce themselves, but it never hurt to be cautious. "Gabriel." He offered in return, before glancing around. "Did you see what happened?"

     
  4. Even with her eyes still closed tightly, the world was still spinning out of control around her. If there was one thing Angel didn't like, it was having things out of control. Like this, like these raids happening more frequently, and more surprising, more randomly. There had been a time when she hadn't thought Society as brutal, as violent, or as clever. The rose tinted glasses of her youth, or Society was starting to try and remove the thorn in its foot; she was never sure which.

    The hand that caressed her back was a familiar one, one that had been there most of her life here. Under other circumstances, she might have even smiled to have him by her side, but at the present moment, it was a struggle to open her eyes to look at the man referred to as the Giant. He always knew the right thing to do; in this case, not to ask stupid questions, like if she was okay, or mindless words of attempted comfort. He just rubbed her back, such a simple gesture that expressed what words couldn't at the moment. She cracked her eyes open to glance at Gabriel, who looked pretty damned wretched. He'd taught many of those kids to play his 'beautiful game' of rugby; she was hardly surprised. He loved kids. His voice was a little more than a whisper. "Do you want to stay at mine tonight?"

    His house was nothing special to the outside world, but it was warm, safe and secure, and contained a bear-like fighter with a reputation when it came to fighting. There was no better place to stay after an upset like this. Rose found herself giving him a nod of acceptance she hadn't meant to give, and an equally quiet reply. "Thanks."

    He suddenly stood, leaving Angel with a view of his knees. She stiffened in response, not wanting to make any sudden movements lest either one of them get shot. His movement in front of her did nothing to help with the tension, not indicating if the new arrival was friend or foe. She rose slowly as Gabriel answered the figure, a blonde woman who looked reasonably familiar. None the less, her hand gripped her gun, pulling it slowly out of its holster as she straightened upwards. Gabriel seemed to be taking an aggressive stance, after all, familiarity was no means a guarantee that the woman was an ally. She studied her silently; her stance, her weapon, her tattoo. Her gut was telling her that some tea was needed to settle it down. She decided to remain silent for the moment, to see what this woman had to say for herself, if indeed, she had anything to say. She could just be a passerby or a scavenger, although her choice of weapon didn't make the latter an obvious occupation. No, Gabriel was by far the bigger threat here, and she would see and wait how this would all play out.
     
  5. Sam walked throught the populated part of the city, his back felt heavy under the added weight of the package he was carrying. It wasn't large, but the weight of it was immense. He wandered the streets, looking for the establishment of the owner of the package. It was addressed to some sort of teacher. He was confused as to why a teacher was recieving a package, but he didn't ask questions. He walked up to the building that had been designated as a school. It was the only place he had been told he could find the teacher. People around the building seems sad, very sad. Many where even crying. A look of worry spread onto his face. He entered the building, no one stoppe him, and what he found inside was a horrific sight. So many bodies. the bodies of children, and with them the carcass of the poor teacher he needed to deliver the package to, he assumed. She had a name tag, and it, he turned over the body, yup it was her.

    He left the building in a rush. "Well, my job here is done." He let out a loud sigh and sat down. He pulled the package from his backpack. He opened it, and what was inside brought upon a sick sense of irony. He tilted the package and out slid a plasma handgun. He began chuckling, "I think she would've wanted this." He let out another long sigh of sorrow. He strapped the gun to his belt and began walking back the way he came out of the city. He didn't get far when he ran into a precarious situation. Two women, and a massive mountain of a man looked at each other, weapons out. "Hey, hey, what's going on here? Let's put our weapons away, or I'll take mine out, then we will have a real problem."
     
  6. Requiem sat up from his bed, a sudden buzzing crackling from his radio. He looked around briefly before realising that the sun was still out. The man let out a heavy sigh and took a look around the room. All things considered, the place that he called home was in incredible shape. He spent a lot of time fixing up everything that was there, working wood with a knife to replace parts that had broken. A little glue or a nail and the furniture was as good as new. What he was looking for however, was his radio, which he moved around quite frequently, and he didn't remember where he'd had it last.

    It took him a moment, but eventually he found it. The small machine was tucked away behind some papers on his work desk. Requiem rolled out of bed, and limped over to the desk. Pulling the chair out, he sat down and moved the papers out of the way. It took him a moment as he fiddled with the dials, fine tuning the signal. Then it was clear, there had been some sort of massacre at the school.

    Requiem sighed as he pushed the rolling chair back and grabbed his cane and his rifle. He had really been looking forward to sleeping in. Shaking his head, he turned to face the window, before wincing and grabbing his sunglasses. Damned sun. Sunglasses on, Cane and Gun Acquired, Requiem was ready to head out into the daylight.

    As he pushed open the door, he took a deep breath, taking in the open air. It smelled of dust and grime mostly, but there were hints of other things, more pleasant things. They didn't concern him on this particular occasion though. He had other things to deal with. An attack on the school would likely mean a meeting soon, and it would be best to acquire what information he could from the area nearby the school.

    Thus, that was where he was headed. It didn't take him long to arrive, and when he got there, he found himself standing before a group of four and approached them. "Hello," he began casually "I don't suppose any of you could help me could you?" He asked, straightening his jacket out as he talked.
     
  7. Caspian was exhausted. He had spent the afternoon chasing and chasing and chasing the rumour of a one-man undercover reconnaissance/spy mission from across the border, only to find it had simply just been a rumour. He was pleased and relieved. If Society was getting smart enough to start using subtle tactics like that as well as overwhelming brutal force, it would be big trouble for the precarious existence they had built for themselves out here. Angel would be relieved too, she might even relax a little, though it was rarely safe to do that, with constant threat hanging over their heads, but Caspian believed everyone needed to try and let themselves loose every so often. He worried about Angel, he really did. He was proud to follow her, to be a close friend and her second-in-command, and he followed her orders and requests to the letter. In the occassional cases where he did feel she had overlooked something, he was happy and flattered she could take his advice.
    His shoulder and hand throbbed, the extra blood from the chase pounding through his veins and aggravating the fresh wounds. Slowing from a jog to a brisk walk, he soon got his breath back, rolling his shoulders as well as he was able to try and relax the tense muscles. He would keep his eyes and ears open for any stirrings in the evening - the day folk were unlikely to be of use as they - like he soon hoped to be - would be heading to a hopefully deep and dreamless sleep, but the night folk, if he saw any, might have new information for him. Though a lot of them felt it was safer and quickly got used to being nocturnal, Caspian had tried it in his earlier years of being cast out, when people and daylight hurt too much, but he couldn't stick it for long.
    Suddenly his radio crackled and Caspian went cold. Not the children...
    He broke into another run, his boots pounding the ground. He couldn't believe it... all he and Angel had worked for, getting that tiny schoolhouse running again had been one of their greatest accomplishments... for Society to sweep in and obliterate it, that was just sick and such a shame and a waste and those poor kids... And then he could believe it. He knew it made sense to target the weak, the helpless before they were old enough to fight back. And they had been concentrated in one place too, easy targets... Caspian wondered if he and Angel's good work had been not so good at all. The benefits of helping the kids be kids and allowing them to have some sort of life together was obviously outweighed by the risk of Society targeting them. But he had felt it was worth it. Society never usually chose children as a target, but he knew he should have expected it. Guilt mixed with the sadness and disgust and anger already swirling within him and helped him put on an extra burst of speed.
    Finally he rounded to corner and came face to sickening face with the massacre site. The blood and the bodies he could see through the windows... he found a new level of hatred for the Society he opposed. Spotting Angel, Gabriel and three strangers congregated by the wall bordering the playground, Caspian jogged over, his hand of a knife hilt out of habit, though a quick evaluation of these strangers' postures and expressions suggested they weren't there to cause trouble.
    "Any survivors?" he asked grimly to the assembled party, hoping but already knowing the answer.
     
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