【Psychotic】| TheRealHermione & J_"Kraken"

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by TheRealHermione, Aug 8, 2014.

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  1. [​IMG]


    It's the year 2143, and a race dubbed Psychics have made themselves known to the world unintentionally. The government hunts down these Psychics to brainwash and adapt them into super soldiers to use for their own purposes; mostly hunting down other Psychics. Drew Black has been on the run with her family for years now, but the Washed (brainwashed Psychics) came in the night, seperating her from her family. Branden Centrich is the Washed who captures Drew in hopes of bringing the prisoner back to headquarters for a reward.

    Name: Branden Centrich
    Age: 34
    Gender: Male
    Power: ESP
    Image (open)


    Name: Drew Adaline Black
    Age: Twenty-Eight
    Gender: Female
    Power: Telekinesis
    Image (open)
    (Except gold eyes and normal ears. :/)

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  2. Drew sat at the top of the tree, balancing precariously on the edge of a branch. Well, precariously, perhaps, for some. But not for her, no siree. For she had always been built small, light enough to perch on the thinnest of branches, agile enough to catch herself should she by some bad luck topple off. She probably should have told her family where she was, but that would just defeat the purpose. The purpose of being alone, the purpose of getting her mind off things. Or trying to, anyways. It never seemed to work, try as she might. It was weird. Up until... a while ago... she had been perfectly capable of closing off even the most disturbing thoughts of her thoughts. But, she supposed that her most disturbing thoughts were much more disturbing now, ever since...

    Drew sighed and pushed the thought away. That wouldn't do, wouldn't do at all. No, she needed to stop thinking about that. Dwelling on such morbid thoughts... Well, it's a good way to damn oneself in this Hell-on-Earth. If only... She cut off her train of thought just in time, having seen an ever-so-slight movement in the brush below her tree. It couldn't be her family, she knew all too well; she was pretty far into the woods, pretty far away from their camp near the creekbed. Just as she was fitting an arrow into her bow, a rabbit sprang from the bushes. Drew let out a sigh of relief and released her arrow. Shee watched stoically as it zoomed downwards, hitting its mark, controlled solely by her telekinesis. For while she had always prided herself in her natural ability, she is truly useless with most forms of weaponry without it.

    Smirking, Drew sprung from the tree and stuck the landing with ease despite the fluxating ground. She picked up the dead rabbit. They would eat well tonight.

    ((Eh... It's nothing real impressive, but I have to get off soon, so it'll do.))
  3. May 2nd, 2143
    The all-call had come out. 12:32pm on the dot, right as he had been taking his lunch in one of New York's more established clubs. Of course, if New York had an
    identity anymore - all of the Northeastern cities had joined into a homogeneous mass that extended across the seaboard and met up with the Southern metropolitan centers. Out west had been all but abandoned in the rush to the eastern and western seaboards where urban development had boomed tenfold. Europe had been having this massive urban growth for years, but of course, they always tended to be a decade or so ahead. In between these urban zones, jokingly called Thing 1 and 2, were the Wastes. Not Wastes in the traditional sense, no. Decrepit, overgrown urban centers and fields as far as the eye could see, not the usual connotation that involved a realm devoid of all life. Of course, further north were the agricultural centers that offered all of America's food base, but the rest of the world got their food from the now-terraformed Africa. Beyond that, there were little to no little civilized folk between the two urban sprawls.

    There were the private hunters, the ones who roamed the Wastes for runaways and vagabonds, then there were the tried-and-true, established ones like himself. He'd been a SWAT officer before he'd taken the job, nearly twelve years of experience before the swap. He'd had the occasional runaways who thought they could hack it in the cities, the ones that believed that they could hide in plain sight. Of course, that's all he had to go with: the token term 'runaway.' Once, he had questioned why often enough a sort of sixth sense had told him when to duck, when to strike, and - more importantly - who was the runaway out of a crowd. His only answer had been a rather cryptic 'It's what makes you right for the job.'

    And that was his last thought before the VTOL came to a hovering stop about two meters above the ground, engines silent in the pitch darkness. That all-call had been his activation, taking him from his usual civilian life into the field. After a decade on the SWAT teams, he'd been offered a special place among the government-controlled hunters. This activation was nothing more than a call stating he would be required at his usual pick-up points in so many hours. There was no rhyme or reason to these calls. Often times hunters were simply called into the Wastes to see what they could grab. Having been a top-notch agent for four years, they'd given him some leeway in what he bagged on such excursions. He was grateful for that.

    "Good luck down there." Laurena spoke into the comms channel from the lit cockpit, the only source of light around. She offered a wave, which Branden returned with a grin before slinging his rifle - a plain MAC - across his shoulder.

    The VTOL's light flickered off before it eerily rose on silent wings into the night, leaving him with boots on the ground. Normally, in city operations, he wouldn't have been so obvious in his gear. Minimal oddball clothing, concealed weapons, close-range killers, the works. Out in the Wastes, he could afford the sort of leeway that came with a lack of the public eye. Brendan currently wore a padded trenchcoat to protect himself from the cold nights and chilled days. Beneath that was Myrskin, a flexible and resilient replacement to Kevlar vests, that covered all of his body except his face, hands, and feet. This was tinted black to avoid any sort of suspicion to what it was. Over his face was a multi-purpose Heads Up Display unit that offered information on his vital signs, current ammunition, current margin of accuracy failure, and - currently the most important - night vision via an infrared laser that protruded from its side, the only bulky feature on an otherwise sleek piece of hardware.

    Brendan figured that his current goal was to find a good perch to roost. He knew this area fairly well; right where Manhattan Kansas used to stand. There were a few vague signs of some of the taller, sturdier buildings, which would be his best bet until morning. Outside Manhattan were the cedar forests that spread all across the midwest, where he knew most of his game was. Often times the runaways would try and make a run south, where they'd be stopped nine out of ten times by border patrol, or they'd make a living in these forests. He'd send out a probe to scan the area while he regained his bearings and came up with a plan, with any luck the drone would come back with a positive report within the hour. It was enough time. The hunt was on.
    #3 ze_kraken, Aug 9, 2014
    Last edited: Aug 9, 2014
  4. Drew doesn't go straight back to her family, the way she almost never does, for safety’s sake. Instead, she wanders for a while, making sure that she is not being followed (for one can never be too careful in this life) before returning back to her brothers, sisters, and parents. They are… the only ones who understand her. The only ones just like her, who know her pains, her sorrows, her aspirations, for theirs are the same as her own. The only people she has ever had direct interaction with.

    The temporary campsite sits under a shaded canopy of trees, the vegetation forming thick shields on all sides. Two branches of large oak trees intwine with one another, a bag of food and supplies hanging from their meeting point. Even Drew’s own weight is too much for the enge of the branches – her younger, monkey of a sister had been the one to hang the bag, just like usual.

    Drew looks over the area, tallying off each relative as she views them, her ever-cautious heart filling with relief as each name sounds in her head, the best words of comfort imaginable: the words of family and safety.

    An eighteen year old girl with bright green eyes and curly blonde hair sits high up in a tree, lounging carelessly on a thin branch. Addy – who is built lanky and almost weightless – dons a light blue blouse and worn-out, almost pure-white jean shorts. As usual, her shoes had been discarded, her hair held up by a messy bow.

    In a tree parallel to hers sits her twin brother, Albie. His eyes are just as bright green as his twin sister’s, his hair curled in much the same way, although his hair is quite longer than Addy’s. He wears a white muscle shirt with long, torn jeans and untied hiking boots. Addy and Albie share the power of twin telepathy and by the smirk on Albie’s slim face, they are using it even now.

    A petite brunette with calming abilities sits near a nest of twigs and leaves, stroking something Drew can’t see to the fullest at this point in time. Her crystalline blue eyes are trained on whatever she’s stroking, her white skirt and purple tank top fairly cleaner than usual, looking out of place compared to her holey sneakers. The girl – a twenty-three year old named Rune – looks up at Drew with a fake-looking smile, gesturing her over.

    With a deep frown, Drew lowers herself down next to Rune, instantly noting what is in the nest. A pale, whisp of a girl with thin white hair lays with her eyes closed, wrapped in a pink dress; Drew’s youngest sibling, fourteen year old Pearl, a girl whose powers are more of a curse than anything. Her visions left her sickly and weak, inable of protecting herself.

    Swallowing hard, Drew looks to Rune. “What did she see this time?” she asks, keeping her voice low. (She had noticed before that her parents are missing, but they likely just went to fetch water, despite Drew always insisting that they let her venture out, as her power is the only offensive one in her entire family.)

    Rune shakes her head, eyes filling with worry as she gazes at the younger girl. “I don’t know. She asked me to help her pick berries from that field we found on the way here,” (Drew notes the berry-stains on Pearl’s dress with a slight nod) “But we were hardly there for a few minutes when she let out a scream and fainted.” She gestures toward the twins and their trees. “Addy and Albie are supposed to be keeping watch, just in case, but you know how that goes. They don’t listen to me.”

    Taking this as her cue, Drew smirks, loading her bow and letting an arrow strike the tree just above Albie’s head. The blonde boy gives a start and topples down the tree a ways, clutching at one of the branches ten feet from the ground. His gaze whips around wildly before his eyes fall on Drew with a sharp glare. “What was that for!?” As though brought back into reality by her brother’s scream, Addy leaps from her own tree, glaring sharply at her eldest sister.

    “You two are supposed to be keeping watch,” Drew scolds sharply. “Now, gather up our things and keep your weapons on you. I mean it. As soon as Mother and Father return, we’re leaving.”

    The younger girl crosses her arms with a sour look. “And who put you in charge, Drewanna? Just because of what happened to Adrian doesn’t mean--” Addy breaks off suddenly as Rune makes a little sound in the back of her throat, looking horrorstruck.

    Drew frowns sternly at the twins. “You know better than that, Addison,” she says in a low hiss. “Now, I want you and Albert to pack up our things. Now.”
  5. ---
    "Have report of a group of vagabonds due east of my position." Brendan whispered into his comms unit, naming the term that meant unidentified Wastes-traveler; most couldn't afford the gas or air fare to go from one side of the country to the other. "Twenty minute march. Expect pick up site to be at my original position three hours from now."

    "That's a negative. Night operations are canceled in your jurisdiction for the duration of the evening. Assets are needed down by the border." Laurena replied after a long pause. Of course, the border was the only dedicated safe zone for runaways, often the only place they'd gun for right off the bat.
    He gave his curt reply, shutting off the comms unit and any other unnecessary electronics on his person, leaving only night vision and vitals operational. The small recon drone he'd sent out earlier he left back at the overgrown silo he had been camping out in, its beacon activated for an easy route back to the exfill point. At his current position, the grass and weeds were still struggling to wear and tear at the roadways, while anywhere road did not meet the rugged earth, grass stood to his armpits. It was fairly easy to go unseen if not unheard through the grasslands; once he was in the woods his mission would be much easier. Personally, he doubted if anyone would see him on his approach to the woods outside his position, but protocol was protocol.

    As Brendan walked, he took his rifle from his shoulder and loaded a charge into it. Few MAC rifles allowed for more than one dart-shaped bullet to be loaded at a time, but its sheer stopping power and range more then made up for the fact. Not to mention, the game he hunted was not even remotely well-armed enough to pose but a minor threat to him. Before entering the fringes of the cedar woods, he gave a quick look upward to examine the cloud cover. Little to none, with what looked to be a rainstorm heading in from the east. Brendan paused for a moment now, charting the time it would take for potential rainfall, which could greatly reduce the ability for his targets to view him. No, it wasn't worth the wait. They could be gone by the time the clouds had a chance of bursting overhead.

    Reaching into that nudge at the back of his mind, Brendan allowed himself to become inseparable from whatever consciousness there was around him. He couldn't read people like some of the more gifted ESPs, but he could sense general emotions and predict actions. During any form of combat, this quirk had saved his life on more occasions then he could count, giving him that brief, split-second reaction time to duck or when to halt behind a corner. Of course, it also assisted him in his hunts; psykers gave off a veritable bonfire in the Else. Nothing yet. Lightening his footfalls, Brendan began to inch his way into the woods, using every hunter's trick he knew. Walk, stop, listen, repeat. Walk, stop, listen, repeat. Walk, stop, listen.....
    #5 ze_kraken, Aug 12, 2014
    Last edited: Aug 14, 2014
  6. ((Hey @J_"Kraken"... Um, I'm sorry for making you wait, first off. My posts will become less frequent now, thanks to school and soccer...))

    As Addy and Albie head off to gather the family’s few meager belongings – mainly assorted foodstuffs, canteens, and handmade weaponry -- Drew lowers herself down next to Rune, pushing the girl’s braids out of her face as she holds back the sobs that Drew knows are there, fighting to get out. But Rune – just like the rest of the Black family – had been taught to contain herself from a young age, for when one lets oneself grow overcome with emotions, they will surely lose sight of what they need to do to keep on living. But even so, Adrian’s capture had put them all to the test, threatening to break down their well-built barriers. And in the case of Rune, who had been quite close to her older brother emotionally, the barriers came toppling down, leaving their charge naked and vulnerable, unable to think straight. And so the rest of them had quickly learned not to mention Adrian, lest poor Rune is caused to fall apart.

    The day of Adrian’s capture had been a day like any other, at least by the terms of the Black family. Adrian had taken a twenty-three year old Drew out to help him hunt that day, the family having gone mightily long without any food at that point. And Adrian – a then twenty-six year old with brown hair and the same odd golden eyes as Drew – was made for the job, what with his empathy-esque powers that allowed him to sense animalistic presences as opposed to those of a more humane variety. They had made a great team, Drew decides passively; Adrian would detect the animals and help her hunt them down, and her telekinesis would ensure that the animal was done for once they finally found it.

    They had just tracked down a magnificent buck when its ears perked up, its eyes widening in instinctual fear. Drew remembers cursing to herself, thinking that the creature must have sensed them. But, no; the stag ran towards the pair of hunting siblings, almost knocking them flat. Adrian’s brow had creased with worry as he pushed his sister toward a tall tree. “Climb, Drew,” he ordered in a low tone, gazing off into the distance in apprehension. “Someone or something is here that startled him.” And Drew… Like the obedient little child she became in Adrian’s protective presence, she obeyed her elder brother and climbed up the tree, just reaching the highest of the heights (after much difficulty, mind) when two burly, identical men had strode from the woods, heavily armed. The twin government soldiers took her brother away, and she vowed never to hide from danger again, to face it head on just like her brother did to protect her and her family. But the thing that hurts her the most is that if Adrian’s still alive, there’s no way he’d be able to recall the noble sacrifice he made out of raw love, just as though it had never really happened, a fleeting dream that he could no longer grasp.

    “I miss him,” Rune whispers, still gazing upon little Pearl with tears in her eyes.

    “I know,” Drew says, feeling awkward. (Comfort had never been her thing.) “But he wouldn’t want us to obsess over him so that we lose sight of why he did what he did. He sacrificed himself to ensure our safety. Pearl saw something terrible. We need to leave before whatever terrible thing she saw can come to pass.” She stands, offering a hand to Rune. The younger woman takes it awkwardly and gets to her feet, brushing off her clothing with a sigh. “You’re right, Drew… As usual.”

    Before Drew has a chance to respond, Addy comes booking it out from the trees, makeshift bags slung across her back. And she’s… alone. “Where’s Albie?” Drew demands, hiding her panic beneath a layer of harshness, for the twins never leave each other’s side. Addy just waves her hand passively. “He decided to go get Mother and Father. He’ll be here in a few minutes.” Drew sets her jaw, muttering beneath her breath. “He’d better be…”
  7. ---
    The stag had given him away. He'd felt the tinge of sentient consciousness on the verge of his mind for quite some time now, and if they were close, close enough to see the animal vault away at the snap of his boot on a twig. Brendan froze, taking his rifle from a relaxed grip to a loose aim; it'd be unlikely he would need to aim, the heads up display removed nearly any chance of loss of accuracy due to poor posture. As he waited, weapon readied, he offered a glance around his current environment. Two fallen logs provided the only source of visual concealment around other then the inky black fingers of the cedars. Slow and deliberate, Brendan cocked the hammer of the rifle back. The weapon emitted a low whine of electricity, ceasing a moment afterwards. ​

    It was, he admitted, 'poor' of him to do something so irrational in regards to keeping his cover. But then, they knew there was something after them and few could resist twitching after hearing a weapon primed. If they didn't do something hasty, they would break nerve and run. Of course, if it did nothing, he was in for a spot of trouble. Slowly, Brendan began to walk to closest of the two fallen logs, back slunched in a crouch now, legs taking long, aimed steps. Once he was within a foot of the log, he dove forward, landing lightly with his shoulder to the rotted bark. Taking a split second to glance around again, Brendan braced the rifle against the log and flicked out its bipod. Now would be the hardest part; the hunter was known. ​

    Instinct told him to err on the side of caution. But then, caution had always been what he considered a waste of time. None of these runaways were typically armed with more than bow and spears, fewer were trained, and even fewer roamed in groups. No, he was right to take a risk here. Odds are this runaway - and friends, he felt at least two minds - were nothing more than kids out on the long march from east to west. Kids he could handle, even if they were armed, trained, and in a group. ​
  8. ((Bumping this... I'll post soon; I'm trying to reawaken my 1x1s now that everything's settled down.))
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