Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Lady Sabine, Jun 22, 2013.

  1. [​IMG]
    The city of Pandora is run by the Party, for that is the way it always has been and always will be. The Inner Party makes all the decision while the Outer Party does all the work and the Citizens provide all the support. In all of this, there's just one monkey wrench: EGO. You see, a few hundred years ago, there was a great war. They called it the War of Ashes, since that's all it left in its wake. Whatever countries existed before the war are gone now, bombed to rubble, plagued to rot, burned to ash, with a sprinkle of radiation on top. This deadly cocktail was supplemented by something entirely new: a race of supersoldiers, grown out of test tubes by the millions.
    And, for the most part, slaughtered by the millions on the battlefield.
    Not all of them died, though. Many lived, in varying degrees of secrecy, and passed along their genes. It's a recessive trait, but every now and then the mandated genetic testing on every baby born in Pandora turns up another Gifted, as they've come to be called. For Gifted in Pandora, there's only three official options: death, disenfranchisement, or recruitment to MYNDFUC.
    Only this is where EGO steps in. Not everyone liked these options. Those that didn't like them turned to EGO, which became a safe haven for Gifteds and any others who happened to dislike the government. Officially they're working to bring down tyranny and make the world a safe place for their kind, but in truth, they're just in it for the gold, the glory, and the girls. The life of an EGO member is short, bright, and loud, and often ends in a hail of gunfire.
    Gunfire usually sent courtesy of MYNDFUC. While officially they're somewhere between a militia and a secret police force, in all truth they exist primarily to counter EGO these days. They have licenses to kill, torture, maim, steal- whatever it takes to bring down EGO and secure the peace. They're badasses and the people love them. They're the knights in shining armor, the freest people in all of Pandora- or so the public thinks. The truth isn't so pretty, but the truth isn't what matters.
    The Inner Party, you see, isn't so happy about the popularity of MYNDFUC. They're worried about a coup, though truth be told their fears are unfounded. Even groundless, fear is a powerful poison, and it's already flowing thick in the veins of the Inner Party, leading them to make some questionable choices. Most questionable of them is their decision to eliminate MYNDFUC and all other Gifteds.
    Their plan might not be brilliant, but it doesn't have to be. They've stuck a bomb in the tail of a MYNDFUC plane sent out to capture some EGO agents from a secret base a few hundred miles out of town. When the bomb goes off on the way back, though, there's a problem: they manage to crash land and mostly survive, EGO and MYNDFUC alike. Now they're stuck with each other, for better or for worse, and the MYNDFUC agents are getting the feeling that maybe EGO isn't their biggest problem right now.

    Player name | Character name | Specialty | Role​

    Player name | Character name | Specialty | Rank​
    Lady Sabine | Tylar Twelve | MP/Law Enforcement | Sergeant​
    Artesian | Curtis Ts'ao | Logistics/Tactics | Captain​
    Paula Polestar | Vern Mordecai Hackett | Close-range weapons | Private​
    #1 Lady Sabine, Jun 22, 2013
    Last edited: Jun 22, 2013
  2. [​IMG]
    • [​IMG]
    This is here.
    This is now.
    This is me.
    This is where I've always wanted to be.
    Isn't it?

    " I don't really think it's too hard to understand. I've wanted to be in MYNDFUC since I was a little girl. I grew up with the knowledge that, like my father, I was going to be an agent. I was going to be the face on the posters, wearing the uniform, smiling at the camera, a modern-day paladin. I wanted to be that white knight in the shining armor. I knew I could do it, I knew I would do it. What I couldn't imagine is who wouldn't want to do it. Who wouldn't want to be the supercop, out on the streets, in front of the famous statues, shining with the light of all the city? That's what MYNDFUC was supposed to be. That's what I was supposed to be. I wanted to be just one of the boys in blue protecting the streets and keeping the peace. I never asked to be a soldier, not in a war like this. I wanted to be a cop. Justice, honor, being in the right, that's what MYNDFUC was supposed to be. I was never supposed to be getting on planes going after terrorists in their den, and I was definitely never supposed to bombed out of the sky. I never wanted this. I wanted to be everything that MYNDFUC doesn't stand for anymore.

    Tylar is one of those rare people who is truly loyal to a fault. She has a way of putting her trust in someone or something and not letting go, even when it would be a good idea. If she decides she's going to be your friend, you're going to be friends until death, no matter how many times you take advantage of her generosity or don't hold up your end of the bargain. Once she get a favorite pair of jeans she's going to wear them until they're literally falling apart. She eats her favorite foods until she's literally sick of them. It doesn't matter what it is that she decides she likes, but once she does, there's almost no changing her mind.
    Almost. Once betrayed, though, she's hurt as only a woman scorned can be. Her loyalty changes to hate which burns just as hot and long, never forgetting, never forgiving. She has a great ability to keep her emotions steady over time, in fact she's the most resilient person she knows. Perhaps she's not the sharpest tool in the shed, or the most creative, but as far as she's concerned the good guys always win, and she's a good guy. These recent events have shaken her face, though, and now she wants some answers, and doesn't really care where they come from. EGO was never her enemy; her real enemy is injustice, like the injustice that was just served to her team. She's a mother bear when it comes to her people, and is quite eager for revenge.
    Tylar got the deep end of the gene pool, in power if not in appearances. In her blood, the Gifted abilities run strong- she's very muscular, comparable to a male soldier without the Gifted gene. She's also fast, with the stamina to stay at that speed for a while. Her eyesight is the weakest of her senses, but her smell and hearing are both superb. That alone would put her above many of the lesser Gifteds, but her special ability is also fairly powerful. She's one of a small group of powers that get called "kinetic batteries" for their ability to absorb the force of a moving object and release it at a later time. In a normal person, they catch a ball by using their muscles to negate the force and bring it to rest. In her case, she simply soaks up that energy and brings the ball to rest without effort. She could then use that energy to throw the ball back using the force of her arm and the force just absorbed. This would make her a very effective weapon, unfortunately, her body is not any sturdier than a normal human's. While yes, she probably could throw a baseball at three hundred miles and hour, it would almost certainly dislocate her shoulder and likely break several bones. This limits her usefulness; her most common use of power is to increase her grip strength and open really stuck jars of pickles. Also, as a word of advice: if she asks you to arm wrestle, don't accept the challenge.
    Of course, she looks every bit as powerful as she is. Standing just shy of six feet tall, her powerful frame nearly fills your average doorway, and she looks good in uniform, if not in much else. It's hard to say if her eyes are more grey or blue but they're not particularly noticeable; there isn't very much noticeable about her at all in many ways. She's neither beautiful nor hideous, old nor young, exotic nor plain. She's just Tylar, and she's perfectly happy that way.

    Her fingers were clumsy as they struggled with the buckle, her knuckles still white from grasping the controls as hard as she could. When she finally freed herself from the copilot's seat and stood up she discovered, much to her dismay, that her knee had been twisted in the crash and shook when she tried to put her weight on it. At least it didn't hurt- yet. Nothing hurt yet. She was still somewhat shocked to be alive.
    Her ears were filled with ringing; the explosion had been louder than anything she'd ever heard and to her sharp ears, the sound was deafening. Besides her knee and her ears, though, the damage seemed to be minor. She didn't see any serious amounts of blood and nothing else refused to work normally, which was always a good sign. The knee worried her, but there was nothing she could do about it now if she wanted.
    Hoping desperately that most of her team had also escaped major trauma, she set her shoulder against the bent door of the cockpit and pushed, wincing as the first twinges from her injured knee finally started getting through to her brain.
    "Anyone else alive out there?"
  3. [​IMG]
    fc: Russell Wong​
    Name: Curtis Ts'ao

    Position: Captain in MYNDFUC. Was in logistics, primarily, during the war, now in tactics and in charge.

    Love: No one has ever gotten an answer as to his orientation: the question is rarely even asked, even more rarely responded to in any way. A particularly well-meaning fellow decided to get his boss laid, eight years ago. It didn't go well. (It didn't go at all. Curtis, on hearing of the kindness of the man hiring him a prostitute, blinked at him in silence, stood, and left without a word.)

    Time: Curtis is thirty-five. He grew up in foster-care in a small city (more of a quaint township) some miles to the north of Pandora. He doesn't know who his parents are, although he has the name and address of an aunt, who passed away during the conquest of his home-town. Once under Pandora's control, he was tested at age ten for the closely-controlled genes of a super-soldier, and found to be gifted. He was adopted by a wealthy family (the Ts'ao family) in the Aurinine district. (Author's Note: He doesn't want to find his parents. He wasn't abused when he was young. He was bullied, yes, but not much after they found he could fight far better than they could.)

    Surface: A cheerful guy, who does what he is told meticulously and efficiently. His superiors have nothing but good things to say about him, his subordinates respect (if not like) him. He makes friends easily, laughs at all the right jokes and cries at all the right times. He has a presence about him, as if he were a human tape-recorder, sucking up your words like a sponge. When irritated, he doesn't become sarcastic or snappy, he just becomes terse and tense. The one thing that others notice about him, is that he seems inhumanely focused on his job and his own private pleasures. He doesn't go out drinking with the boys, or sing karaoke with the girls. After work, each day, he retires to his own bunk or room, pulls the curtains around him and sits in solitude, reading to himself in a whisper or playing with a puzzle or brain-teaser video game.

    Depths: Curtis is cynical, emotionally-closed off, un-empathetic, and opportunistic. He's prone to complicated or escalating situations, just for the new options that a changed situation offers those who are quick about exploiting them. His family taught him that, in any market, change is good. It's stagnancy that kills a situation and retards the growth of fortunes. He is short-sighted at times, but has admirable determination in pursuing his goals. He has strong avarice and a hunger for the safety and power that money brings. He is unpredictably violent, to those who do not know him, due to his fondness for the element of surprise. He is extremely intelligent, perhaps to a fault, and prone to arrogance. He thinks he can't make mistakes, at least subconsciously, even if he admits aloud that he is not perfect. He is definitely not perfect, and one of his biggest flaws is his inability to form close relationships with anyone. He seems like someone with many close friendships with most people he works with, but the truth is that the relationships are all hollow shells of a friendship. He is not afraid of being emotionally close, he just considers it pointless and just... isn't sure how to care about someone beyond a superficial level. Is he a sociopath? He doesn't know. All he knows is that, in any situation, he does the smart thing, and sometimes the smart thing to do is also a callous action.

    Skills: His heightened strength and speed that comes along with the super-soldier genes are somewhat muted (though a bit above the average for humans), due to a peculiarity of his metabolism. Instead, what Curtis has in spades is endurance and swift healing (nothing ridiculous, but his healing times are cut in half). When everyone else is exhausted, he can keep going and going and going, as long as he has enough calories to work with. He can take pain and conditions far beyond that which a normal human could stand, or even that which his soldier fellows could. His genes also had some unusual effects on his mind, leading him to have perfect recall of facts he's heard. Not things he's seen, read, smelt, felt or anything else, just things he has heard with his own two ears. The auditory centres of his brain are hard-wired directly to his long-term memory, with no editing out anything he doesn't want to hear. Ever.

    Quirks:He's fond of riddles, puzzles and brain-teasers. He loathes Christmas music and off-key singing. He has a bad habit of quoting people's exact words, and has picked up a knack for imitating voices and sounds. When he was given the choice of running, disenfranchizing, or joining up, MYNDFUC offered him excellent perks (especially in the financial sphere) and he accepted.


    Captain Ts'ao was infuriated. Boiling anger had overtaken bewilderment a few moments after he'd shoved the dead body of one of his men off of himself. A dead man was far heavier than a layman might expect - unconsciously, most people felt instinctually that what gave a man weight in the world was the force of their personality: their conscious agency and ability to bring a thought to reality. It wasn't true, the real weight of a man on the world was simply a matter of blood and bones.

    He took in two deep breaths before assessing the damage. His uniform was drenched in blood, but it was fortunately mostly from Private Ricardo, who had received fatal wounds to two arteries and extensive shrapnel damage to his back. Damn, he was their best medic and they could have used him. How many were left alive now? How many would be alive by the time the crucial twenty minutes in which doctor's worked magic were over? He couldn't afford the time to examine them and assess. No time to think, no time to think, just time to act.

    Ts'ao slipped as he staggered towards the cockpit, slightly woozy from his own shrapnel wounds, the pain in his side and neck lurking in the back of his mind, edged with the glittering spines of adrenaline. Even if he could feel the blood leaking from his skin and soaking his collar, it wasn't a problem. Not a problem. It would heal. He cleared his throat and announced to the shell-shocked survivor(s), "Move! Grab your gear and we're getting off this plane." This was probably rigged to blow - he would have, if he wanted to take out a team in such a neatly contained way. Blow it from the sky, rig it to blow again once any potential survivors were licking their wounds inside. He leaned against the cockpit door. "Tylar, good, you're alive," he responded to the copilot. "Get the med kit and your gear and get out," he snapped out an order.

    ((Oh my gods I've missed writing violence. ^-^))
    #3 Artesian, Jun 22, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Jun 22, 2013
  4. As the violence of the explosion subsided, Vern opened his tightly shut eyes and came to the realization that his hands were clutching the sides of his seat. His ears still rang; he shook his head as if to deter the unwanted noise. He took in his surroundings slowly, still dazed and confused by the previous events. Blood splatted mainly the left and rear sides of the vehicle. Vern, thankfully, was on the opposite end of the plane, a factor that probably contributed to his survival. People seemed to be yelling, shouting out both words and incomprehensible screams of horror, but as of current he couldn't hear them. In fact, he couldn't hear anything but that cursed ringing sound. Slowly, his state of bewilderment was replaced by that of unadulterated fear as he became more aware of his surroundings. People were rushing out of the plane, taking their supplies and any injured, but alive, along with them. He followed their suit, not having anything else to follow, and hurried off the hazard, his bag in tow.

    Now free from the metal bird, Vern splayed himself out upon the charred grass, hugging the ground. Everything ached, he was sure that his body would be covered in dull bruises within a few hours time. His head throbbed as though his brain was trying to free itself from his skull. He still couldn't hear a sound, but the boy was sure it would subside. People were rushing about, on and off the deathtrap, but he was too dazed to be concerned. Occasionally, a face he could vaguely recognize knelt beside him, shouting words the private couldn't hear. He looked at his comrades with blank faces, scared and confused. What were they saying? He wished he could read their lips, but they were speaking too fast.

    He moved his hands to his head, trying to shake out the ringing sound. Pulling them away from his face after a few moments, Vern came to the conclusion that the blood staining his fingers was his own. He must have been hit during the crash. By what, the boy didn't know. In fact, he was too jaded to even care. The previous events eluded him; he hadn't a clue what was even going on, but wished that it would all subside. A comrade tugged at his arm, pulling him to his feet and farther away from the plane. The man was yelling at him, scolding him, but Vern had only just begun to hear his words. Everything was so loud, the sounds all cluttered and without order or reason. It was too much to take in. For once, the boy didn't know what to do.