Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by KthuluKhild, Sep 16, 2015.

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    [November 12th, 2015]
    In the vast, busy city of New York, all seemed well and normal. The streets buzzed with cars, people talking nice walks, places to be, people to see. One of these seemingly innocent civilians was a young, 13 year old boy, in the back seat of a minivan. He wore only a red beanie and a ragged brown leather jacket worn by his father...before he was killed in a shooting. The boy was too young to really remember, though he now had to grow up without a father, only his caring, protective, hard working mother. Speaking of which, his mom was driving him back home from school, along with his little sister sitting to the right of him. They stopped by a very lucky sight before doing so; a ReGen Inc. announcement. A big panel was set up in the park, a huge army of reporters, photographers and bloggers of all sorts were gathered in front of a podium. Behind the podium was a large screen, showing an animated video of an earth moving, looping the animation until needed other wise.

    Suddenly, the huge screen went black, and faded into a video of a young, blonde, blue eyed girl running towards his mother in a grass field. She jumped in her arms, laughing and happy. The camera moved towards the girl's face, showing that her left eye was blue, while the right one was green and glowing. She then put her hands up to touch the sky, creating a mini earth between her thumb and index finger, and the video soon morphed into ReGen Inc's popular billboard. A woman in a white trench coat then walked up to the podium, coughing and smiling at the crowd. The reporters went wild. The woman was middle aged, Caucasian, and donned curly red hair. She had an almost angelic aura, and she was very recognizable from the other ReGen advertisements. The crowd finally calmed down, and the woman spoke; "Hello everybody! I am vice president of ReGen Inc, Vanessa Gwennyth!" the crowd clapped and quickly bombarded Vanessa with questions, the most common being "Vanessa! What is ReGen's special announcement?" or "What will you do about the growing Meta Criminal threat, and Titan!" Vanessa slightly laughed and motioned her hands for the crowd to settle down. "All your questions will be asked momentarily, but before that..." she said before pressing a button on a clean, white remote in her hand. The screen behind her then showed a picture of an odd device, an antenna of sorts (or a radio dish) attached to an alien looking box. "I am proud to introduce ReGen's latest and greatest invention, the MetaTracker!" she said. The crowd gasped, some clapped. The screen then switched to an informational animation, showing a group of male and female figures much like those shown on the bathrooms. A green circle then surrounds one of them, then another, and now a spread out few are being shown tracked by the new device. "With ReGen's new MetaTracker, we can find every Meta Human and possible Meta Human within the entire city! Or at least, we hope to have it go that far. As of now it can only track as far as a small town. With the use of multiple Trackers, and possibly upgrading our current ones, we can track Meta Humans as far as the entire world!" she explained, some growing silent and others clapping. One reporter quickly stood up and said "Vanessa, why exactly do you wish to track all these Meta Humans anyway? They are citizens just like us, we don't go around 'tracking' regular human citizens now do we?!?" he angrily exclaimed, as a few others soon bombarded Vanessa with agreements to the man and other questions. Vanessa's expression changed to that of 'annoyed' and looked at the man with a death stare. "We don't seek malicious purposes with this device, we accept Meta Humans as much as the next one does. But you must understand that the growing Meta Criminal menace is too large for the simple M.C.S.D to handle, we need to evolve and upgrade just as the enemy has! Not only that, but soon registration will be as easy as a click of a button with this new technology!" she explained, as the crowd then threw more and more questions to Vanessa as ever, and cameras clicked and blinded everyone around.

    Vanessa then motioned her hands for silence, and slightly answered very few questions. Suddenly, a loud scream was heard, almost like a painful bending metal. The screeching sound got louder and louder, until everybody in the vicinity ducked in fear as their ears were painfully attacked by the screeching sound. Gun shots were then heard, as people were seen chaotically scurrying around in fear and explosion. Not just any explosion, this one was...strange, purple, and emitted a loud, low pitched sound much like a whale, drowning out the painful screech.

    The news was chaotic, thousands of reports on the speculated Titan terrorist attack. Though the speculation was soon to be reality, as more and more clues and footage were shown on the television screens in every American household. "Hello, my name is Brianna Lindell" said the woman in black on the right, "And I'm Mason Montez" continued the man on the left in a gray suit. "Today was a tragic and chaotic day for New Yorkers, as Central Park was seemingly attacked by the terrorist group Titan while Vanessa Gwennyth was making a huge announcement for ReGen Inc, a Meta Human Tracker" said the woman, while footage of Vanessa at her conference and an image of the MetaTracker were shown. "It truly is tragic, the culprits have been confirmed to be a man named Denvar Monard, a Meta that was presumed dead 3 months ago in his last attack on the Chicago "Flying Man" memorial" explained Mason, followed up by footage of a man of African descent and a white tank top holding his hands up to a group of police men as they broke down in seizures of sorts as purple lightning connected from Denvar's hands to their heads, followed with the footage being cut with the same large purple explosion. "Other proven culprits are Samantha BelReese and her grandson, Sebastian BelReese, as they were both seen walking their supposed leader, Titan himself to the conference, following with gunshots" he said, following it up with a blurry image of a short, elderly woman with curly grey hair of Spanish descent and a boy in his mid 20's wearing a black hoodie, also of Spanish descent. In between them was a blurry image of Titan, a tall, grey being of piercings, chains, metallic skin and spiked metal hair. "Other suspects include-" said Brianna, before being interrupted by someone talking into her ear piece. "Oh...It's appears that another proven suspect is Idris Nianca, a woman from Italy who was reported missing 4 weeks ago when she killed a large amount of people at her Ex-boyfriend's wedding..." A screen of six icons with full names under them was shown on the television. Four of these people didn't even have a picture associated with their icon, simply an anonymous blank placeholder. One of them was even the reporter seen early during the conference. "In other news, president and CEO of ReGen Inc; Randall Rhodes, is making ANOTHER announcement in front of ReGen towers to follow up with this tragic event." Footage of an old man with pure white hair and a white beard was shown in front of the large, futuristic entrance to ReGen towers, talking into the mic on his pure white plastic podium. "I am sad to announce that Vanessa Gwennyth has been confirmed M.I.A. As of now, no bodies have been confirmed to be Vanessa, and it has been believed that she is possibly deceased due to where the explosion was focused on. As of now, progress and funding for the MetaTracker has been increased on this tragic day to be remembered, ReGen Incorporation will bring an end to these radical terrorists!" said Randall in front of the enormous audience.
    • Love Love x 2
  2. Elsewhere, away from all the chaos.

    A night club was booming, and not just any night club. A very special one, owned on the northern part of New York city by a man named Adrian Cole. Outside of this club was just as inconspicuous as any other building - red brick layered on top of one another, grey pillars, a patio style covering over the now dark and vacant front office. A very typical old school style building, three stories high. What might have struck a clever man as strange was how there were no windows though. More strange yet was that one could see where windows had originally been but were bricked over and replaced entirely. A strange choice in architecture to some, but not for Adrian Cole. For him it was logical. He had a business to run, and the eyes of the public were not welcome nor privy to what went on inside of his club.

    Triple T.N.Z. was the local acronym, it might as well have been the clubs name. Officially it didn't have one, but on paper it was the Cole Building. Inside this old style building with no windows was a night club, built for and run by none other than Meta Humans. The door to this club wasn't the front though. That was just the front office, a room that was without an exit beyond the front door. The door to Triple T.N.Z. was down they alley way to the right, as any frequenter to the club would know. On the door was the reason for the place's name sake to the locals: 1323-0. From here and only from here, one might be able to hear the thunder of noise that was coming from the other side. It wasn't until one opened the door and was assaulted by the sheer magnitude of the wave of sound that came pouring out from the door that one could appreciate how well sound proofed this building was!

    Stepping inside, your average patron would be met with a small hall way of sorts, filled with jackets and shoes. They weren't allowed inside after all. Everyone, human or Meta, was required to take them off at the door. House rules. It was a dark hall way, with just a single bulb to illuminate it and the promise of neon lights just down the way to guide the patron to where the main action was. From that front room, you couldn't properly hear the music, just the after effects of the amplifiers ringing your ribs and lungs like they were bells, trying to force sound out of you. It wasn't until you'd taken off your shoes and jacket and stepped into the glow of the lights beyond that you could hear it:

    The heart beat of Triple T.N.Z.

    There must have been a couple hundred there tonight, at least. Patrons, paying customers, a throng of bodies writhing and grinding against one another. The lights were hung high up from the ceiling, a ceiling that seemed to go on without end in the mostly dark room. Those with color spun and swirled, frantic spotlights trying to find the most rambunctious of dancers. The main lights, hot white lamps illuminating everything, blinked on and off to the beat of the music. Flash images of the pool of flesh blared out against everyone as they dance and swung. Sexual tension was practically choking the room as people danced without their shirts or were in the process of removing even more clothing, all perfectly fine under the house rules. Some held drinks, others drugs. Some were just humans looking for a banging time, others were more... developed and occupied space on the floor all their own. Everyone was their own individual and not at all all at once, lost in the music and the sweat and the desire to fuck the night away.

    And above them all sat Adrian Cole, the proud owner of this establishment and the master of puppets that conducted every person within his domain with the push of a button. He sat behind a table on a throne, positioned on a stage high above the rest of the room and next to the bar. The car was a half crescent shaped counter, octagon in nature, that faced the northern most wall, which was covered in booze and illuminated brightly. The dance floor was so packed with people that some were pressed up against the bar and encouraged to order something to drink, which one of the four bar tenders were quick to get them. On every other wall were mirrors, creating the illusion that there were several hundred more people in the room than what there were, almost making it look like the building was bigger on the inside than it was on the out. Out of all of the reflections of the writhing, living mass, Adrian's stood out. his was a bright, neon image in the dark, illuminated when the lights were on and when they were off.

    This was just a typical night for Triple T.N.Z. As one of the only night clubs that openly welcomed and encouraged Metas to become patrons there rather than anywhere else, it had a somewhat niche clientele. None the less, Adrian made more than enough money each month to support himself and his bar off of his loyal customers, who gladly came back to the only night club run by a Meta for Metas. As the beat began to fade, Adrian reached forward on his throne and grabbed a microphone. Standing up, he raised his arms high up in the air and was met with the roaring applause of the drunken, horny throng he'd made.

    "METAS!" he cried out, his voice reverberating off the mirrored walls and making them quake. The crowd cried back and he held a hand high to silence them. "Now, we all know why we're here tonight," he went on to say. "Earlier today, there was an attack in our fair central park at a live press conference." The crowd groaned and booed, spitting their protest. "I know!" Adrian called out. "I know. These times of change are so... unsettling. We live in a world of fear, even as the humans put on their smiles and say it's alright, we know don't we? They're afraid of us, of Titan. Because of one group of individuals who act, we are all cast into a harsh light! Fucking hell, it's the Nazi's all over again!" The crowd let out a resounding cry of "ZEIG HEIL!!", a joke that anyone who came even semi regularly would know the entire bar was a part of. Any time the Nazi's were mentioned on the loud speakers, they were obligated to shout it. House Rules.

    "BUT! But! That's not why we came here tonight, nope. Not a one of us. We came here, all of us, to forget about the world outside. About the fear. About Titan, and that fucking ReGen Inc and their stupid fucking tracker!" More cheers. "We came to fuck, and drink, and dance the pain away! And that's exactly what we're going to do. So if there's anyone here who's sitting in a corner, worrying their pretty little heads, well don't! House Rules everyone, everyone dances, everyone drinks, everyone listens to the music, and god damn it, EVERYONE goes home SATISFIED!" With resounding cheers of approval from his subjects, Adrian sat down the microphone and pressed play on his laptop, starting up another song, and begetting everyone to dance once again. Adrian collapsed onto his throne and rest his head against his fist, propped up on the arm of the chair. As much as his words might have preached distraction and merry, his mind weighed heavy with today's news. Things did not look well, and he feared what was beyond the horizon.
  3. Alex watched the news report from outside a TV shop in Manhattan. People busily walked past on their way to wherever. Despite all the insanity in this world people just walked on with their lives. Ten years ago people would have been freaking out over a small bomb threat. Now it was common enough that no one cared. He sighed in frustration. This deal was taking forever.

    He was supposed to be meeting with the local cartel to organize a specialty drug trade. He held the recipe for zoom juice, a strong steroid. The deal was that he was going give it to the cartel and they would give him their recipe for MDMA. Only problem now was that his contact was supposed to meet him at 7:30PM. It was now 8:25PM. It's one thing to lure a rival gang member into a trap but to straight up stiff them is a dick move. His hand hovered over his phone, about to text the Crime Lord and tell him it was a dud when an asian man in a purple hoodie tapped him on the soldier. "You look like you're from Chicago." Ah, this must be the contact.

    "Ya, what of it?"

    "You have the package?" The man held up a piece of paper. Alex held his piece of paper up. Without another word they made the exchange and parted ways. Having verified that the recipe was legit and didn't call for half a cup of "suck my ass" he texted The Crime Lord. The text read. "Deal went down. I got the stuff. Where do you want it made? The Milwaukee plant?" And send. Only a few seconds passed before he got a response.
    "No, make it there."
    "Sir? This isn't our territory."
    "That's going to change. Sorry I hadn't informed you earlier. The zoom juice recipe is fake. I've sent a credit card to your hotel room. Start running."

    Alex stopped in his tracks. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Just then an SUV rounded the corner and barreled towards him. The asian gang member could be seen holding a gun in the passenger seat. "Oh, fuck me!" He started to run.
    #3 Xytheus, Sep 16, 2015
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 16, 2015

  4. Sure, she had interest in ReGen's announcement, being a Meta herself and all. Sure, the park was maybe a three block walk from the shop she worked at. Sure, she happened to be on her lunch break when the announcement was happening. None of that meant she was going to waste valuable time she could spend eating to listen to some "company exec" that was probably an actor blather on about
    "opportunities" and technical shit. Especially when she could just watch the important parts on the internet.

    Later, she'd be glad she missed it.

    The explosion was more than loud enough to be heard at the shop Laura worked at, and she didn't have to so much as look out the window to know what caused it. Titan. They were one of the few groups ballsy enough to directly fuck with ReGen at the moment, and the only one so notorious for terrorism. She was all for more freedom for Metas, of course, but that didn't mean she agreed with their methods or their disregard for innocent lives. They were terrorists, plain and simple, regardless of the cause they killed for. By the time she'd run all the way down to the park, the cops and paramedics had already arrived and were cordoning off the scene, taking away the injured and dead. She didn't stay more than fifteen minutes. Bombings weren't even a big enough deal to interrupt her workday, these days, and she had an appointment later to prepare for.

    Laura got off at a bit past seven, sore and exhausted and so far past irritated it wasn't even funny. Her last client, some bouncy college girl who wanted a small cherry tree on her shoulder, had asked at least fifteen patronizing questions relating to MetaMorphs and the politics surrounding to them in the first half hour of the tattooing process. The tattoo took a little less than two hours. By the end, it was taking physical effort for Laura not to hit her. Fuck, she really did wish her mutation was less obvious. But, the tattoo had been completed, the college girl had been happy with it, and Laura's station had been cleaned.

    Now, she was free whatever, really. The next day was one she had completely off, without an appointment or anything, so she could sleep in as long as she liked. She didn't have to think much about where to go; getting drunk and maybe getting laid sounded awesome, so she caught a cab and directed the driver to the Triple T.N.Z, New York's one and only Meta-friendly club. Charlie would be fine until she got home.

    The place was pack when she entered, and the owner was in the middle of some sort of rousing speech. She shouted "Zeig Heil!" right along with the rest of the place's patrons, as she'd come to this place once or twice a month since she'd become aware of it, but she didn't pay too much attention to the rest of the words. Getting through the crowd without jostling or damaging the large, gray, feathery wings coming off her shoulders was a task that took most of her focus. After successfully worming through the crowd, she ordered some sort of mixed drink that looked good and settled in to wait against the bar, her head nodding along to the energetic music now playing through the club's speakers. She'd taken off her specially modified jacket at the door, and was left in a flexible black tanktop with an open back and a pair of dark blue jeans that fit nicely.

    She'd give it...fifteen minutes before someone gave her a corny pickup line relating to her wings and her fall from heaven.

    Anderson Car and Truck Repair is a decent little mechanic's shop located in South Boston. The place has a sizable parking lot that usually has one or two vehicles parked in a corner waiting to be picked up or claimed. The front room is all white tile, and it's clean and tidy if a bit small. Three chairs, not counting the one behind the front desk, are placed against one of the walls, and there is one door that leads off into the bathroom, another door that leads to an office area for the shop's owner, and a third that allows access from the front area into the shop's large garage. The garage has two separate car lifts and two separate garage doors, the tool racks and part storage area are all neatly organized, and the floors are solid if oil stained concrete. It's staffed by four mechanics and a receptionist.

    "ReGen Incorporation will bring an end to these radical terrorists!" the man on the television declared. Malcolm, watching on the shitty little TV kept in the front room, snorted audibly. The terrorism wouldn't end, even if ReGen could pull off the impossible and kill the entirety of Titan from their namesake to the lowliest recruit. There would be more groups and more targets and more blood and more death, a vicious cycle of violence that all the money in the world couldn't stop. As for the tracking system itself, that made Malcolm more than a bit uncomfortable. People he didn't know having access to his location at all times didn't sit right with his suspicious nature.

    "Whatcha watching that for, Mal?" asked Rowan Daniels as she walked up to the door separating the garage from the front area. He really didn't care for the woman. She was no sharp knife, she was loud about her dislike for Metas, she felt like anger and bitterness to his empathic sense, and she called him by the nickname he hated. But, she did know her way around a car, so he usually tried to ignore her. The feeling appeared to be mutual; in all the months he'd worked there, she had yet to comment on the discoloration of the veins in his hands, if she even noticed it at all. "Those Titan fucks are getting more people killed. ReGen's gonna put them and all the other freaks down like the rabid dogs they are. Not much else to understand."

    "My business in watching it is none of yours, Daniels," Malcolm responded as he turned so he could give the American a proper icy glare, arms crossing over his chest. Rowan gave a loud snort and headed back into the garage. He took a couple of deep breaths after she'd put a bit of distance between herself and the door, taking off one of his leather work gloves and scratching the bare hand through his short red hair. All of the arteries and veins on the bare hand were visible through the skin, and their color was...complicated. Towards his wrist and arm, they were a deep, dark blue, harsh against his skin, but on his palm the color shifted abruptly to a red that was just a bit too light to match blood, with the color draining to swirls of a couple of different shades of gray on his fingers. The colors didn't blend or make a gradient where they met, and the borders between them were clear.

    After a moment, he decided to ignore that his coworker had compared him to a rabid dog and pulled the glove back on, carefully adjusting the glove on his other hand before heading back into the garage himself. He was greeted at the door by Vera, the five month old pitbull he'd found outside the shop one night as he was headed home. Anderson didn't mind the little blue nose staying in the shop while Malcolm worked, as she was quite well behaved and friendly with people. Malcolm reached down and fondly scratched her ears before getting back to work. The task he had been in the middle of when the news story began was getting a Nissan with a bad transmission running again, she he went back to that.

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  5. [​IMG]
    MENTION : -

    Show Spoiler

    CHRISTELLE MEYERChristelle yawned lazily while her fingers pressed on the TV remote impatiently. She kept switching the channels again and again, trying to find something good to accompany her afternoon. Today, Christelle didn't have any classes and her shift started at 7 p.m. which meant she had about 6 hours to be a slacker. Because nothing drew her attention, Christelle laid down on the couch and texted Alan to come home faster.

    Shortly afterwards, Christelle heard a familiar voice from the TV, she tilted her head a little to find the vice president of ReGen Inc, Vanessa Gwennyth, talking about their new invention to track Meta. Christelle snorted, "You will never find me, old lady."
    Christelle never liked ReGen Inc, but she didn't hate it. She just wanted to stand on the neutral side. Her life was finally better and she didn't want anyone to mess around with it. Just laid low and acted normal for now. A peaceful modest life was the only thing she wanted. But then, a loud boom came out of nowhere, everything turned into a mess.

    Christelle widen her eyes and watched the news carefully, another terrorist attack. It was not so surprising, but Christelle still felt uneasy with the increasing of terrorist attacks. She felt... unsafe. Christelle quickly turned off the TV, didn't want to hear the rest of it. Her heart was beating so fast, but she didn't know why. It felt like something was coming closer, the danger of being a Meta was never ended. No matter how much the civilization had accepted Meta, they never safe. Born as Meta would be always filled with terror.

    Christelle shook her head to brush away all of the speculations and insecurity she made. She quickly picked her phone and dialed a series of numbers that had been memorized out of her head. As soon as a low rough voice was heard, Christelle suddenly felt better. A small faint smile drawn on her face as she uttered his name, "Alan...."
  6. Down on the dance floor:

    Adrian was lost in a sea of bodies, having descended from his throne to mingle. Sitting up there by himself was doing him no favors, it was counter productive to his speech from earlier. He, like every other Meta there, was in no way looking to make this evening a waste by dwelling on the political happenings of the outside world. This was his world, his kingdom, his club. Inside there, he was safe. Every Meta was safe in his arms, and so he danced and drank with everyone else as one of them, because he was one. Before coming down, he'd pressed a button that would let the music play on random and was currently playing a very fitting song indeed. It stirred everyone on, made the room bounce with bass and pure energy - it was a wonderful party, for sure.

    And Adrian was only going to make it better for as long as he could. To this end, he made his way over towards the bar through the crowd, dancing and flowing through them like water. When he got to the bar, he was standing next to a woman with grey wings, a very obvious and some would say unfortunate sign of her being a Meta. They couldn't be hidden very well after all. Adrian sympathized with her, as his reflection in any one of the mirrors would give away. None the less, he looked at this woman for a few seconds, just one of many who were there, and the mere thought of her possible struggle with finding a job or being out in public with wings gave him a boost in adrenaline. Hopping up onto the bar, being careful not to knock over any drinks by stepping lightly on his toes, Adrian turned to the only male bar tender and his co-owner of the club. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he shouted as loud as he could over the music, "MORTY!" The man, dressed up in a white dress shirt, black vest, red bow tie and black dress pants, looking almost like a costume, turned towards Adrian standing up on the bar. Whether he heard him or not didn't matter, Adrian had his attention. "TRUMPET!" he called, holding his hands up in the air to hold an invisible instrument to show what he meant.

    Mortimer, the bar tender, nodded, knowing what he meant and likely what he wanted to do. Mortimer was a god at parties after all. Reaching beneath the bar, the bar tender tossed Adrian his instrument and he caught it, holding it up in the air for anyone looking to see. It used to be that he played the guitar, now a days he preferred a variety of instruments, most of them string-less. As the music began to increase in energy, Adrian held his pose, letting the lights work their magic and waiting for his cue. As the speakers blared out, "AND WE DON'T NEED NO WATER, LET THE MOTHER FUCKER BURN! TIMMY PLAY YOUR TRUMPET LET THE PEOPLE GO BERSERK!" the lights began to fade. A moment of comparative silence hung over the club, then there were lights once again, all pointed at Adrian thanks to Mortimer's help.

    Adrian played his trumpet in time with the music, his right leg thumping on top of the bar and his head bobbing with the music. As the notes on the trumpet rose up, he lifted his head up into the air and when they went down, he lowered it again. People cheered, a thunder of applause that was heard clear over the music as the patrons watched their master dance for them all. When the solo came to an end, he held his arms up in the air, trumpet in hand, and let out a mighty roar that the throng returned in kind, his fangs on full display and a look of ferocity on his face that might make one think he was about to go to war.

    Getting down from the bar top, Adrian let out a sigh and sat his trumpet down, turning around and shouting to one of the female bar tenders, "LEMME HAVE MY USUAL, AYE?" The woman nodded and got to work, mixing him a drink of alcohol and blood, type O negative, which she'd have to get from a cooler behind the bar. With his drink ordered, Adrian leaned against the bar and took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm his heart beat at least a tad bit. He was used to being this energetic on a night and as such was used to having to calm down a bit so that he could keep being energetic. It was only logical. As the song died off and a new one began, Adrian turned to his right and left and saw the woman with wings again, sipping away at a mixed drink. Smiling, he held out his hand to her and jerked his head towards the dance floor, offering to dance without words. It was a night of relaxation after all, a night to be carefree and do something stupid without consequence. What happened in Triple T.N.Z. stayed in there for all time, because Triple T.N.Z. only existed between the times when it was open and when it closed.

    Why shouldn't they have a bit of fun?
    • Love Love x 1
  7. @Navras @

    Alex ran as the gang SUV pulled closer. It would be easy to just kill them if he could use his powers, but that was probably not a good idea considering the attack earlier that day. If he used them there would be a manhunt for metas all throughout the city. He ducked behind a sedan as the SUV drove past. Pistol fire ripped into the cars windows and side panels. Just ahead was an intersection where the SUV took the time to make a U-turn. Before it came back he ran into a thin alley, maybe 5 feet wide.

    The gangsters dismounted and pursued him. As he ran Alex knocked over bikes and trashcans to slow them down. As the alley made a sharp turn several bullets hit the concrete next to him. Soon, he came to a T in the alley. One way led out to the street, the other continued for a short ways to the backdoor of a windowless building. He only had a second to weigh his options. Go to the street where he would probably be a sitting duck, or go through the door and hide. He chose the door. As he got closer he made out the numbers 1323-0.

    The gangsters were close behind him as he quickly ducked inside. Going through the door was a big mistake. As soon as he entered his eyes were assaulted by an array of colorful black lights, loud people and shitty music. (Be advised that is Alexs opinion, not mine. Your choice of music is K.) It was like a flash grenade went off in his face. Pretty soon bullets started penetrating the door. One grazed his lower arm. "Ah, fuck it!" Alex decided to use his powers here. Most of these people were probably too drunk to remember his face anyway. He turned to smoke and rose up to the ceiling. He spread himself out and began absorbing the electricity from the lightbulbs, causing them to explode and the room to go dark. The occupants were surprised by the sudden total darkness. And then even more surprised by three heavily armed gang members busting down the door. He stayed in hiding on the ceiling waiting for the crowd of, what Alex thought were normal, people to panic.
  8. (What's goin' on? No one's posted in awhile and the OOC can't be posted in.)
  9. (We don't know. I honestly just assumed that this thread had been shut down along with the OOC. KthulhuKhid isn't responding to PMs so we have no idea what's up, none of us.)
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