Russian Roulette

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Asmodeus, Nov 24, 2009.

  1. Sol. Known more informally as 'Earth.' A habitable planet, with a once-middling technologic level for its sapient race. It was to be a routine integration for the Galra Empire. Such a world could never stop even the least of their forces and so, the least of their forces were sent. A planetary task force, one mothership-class war vessel and assorted escorts.

    They were beaten back sorely and emergency records sent back to the Empire in full described unusual forces. Metahumans, of great power who allied and fought back against the invasion with a fury rarely seen from any race before, save perhaps in the tales of the Third Earth or within the tales of the tournaments of the Battle Nexus.

    Meanwhile, the invasion of Earth had sparked a resurgence in technological research and boosted enough for the future to take hold. Alien technology was obtained and reverse engineered by the human race, prompting the creation of other technologies as well. When the Empire returned? They found the humans ready.

    But so was the Galra Empire.

    Emperor Sarkon did not underestimate Sol. And quietly, he too made his own alliances before sending in his forces to attack. The Triceraton Empire, the Dark Tapestry and its representative, Mumm-Ra the Ever-Living flocked to his banner. In their wake, came the Precursors of the Anteverse, even the Chitauri and their infamous master sent their forces as well.

    Earth would become a blood bath and with this ultimate purpose, this darkest alliance moved forward to inevitable victory.

    When news came of the impending force, what followed after would be known throughout history as the era of Unification. Alien allies unknown revealed themselves and so did many of earths locals, who had hitherto remained hidden. It would not only be humanity that would fight for earth, but also its secret protectors....And its nightmares.

    Across the stars, the war was waged on all fronts. Werewolf battalion's used gun and claw to fulfill their missions. The remaining dragons that yet existed entered the fray alongside the costumed heroes who had spent their lives protecting earth. Dracula himself commanded a position using his personal forces as he harried and struck fear into their enemies.

    It was a war with many heroes and stories of heroic sacrifices. Finally, in the end? The fortunes of war shifted upon the day of July Fourth, in the year two-thousand-seventy-five.....

    What remains has been classified, but a decisive victory had been struck that day. Five years has passed on by, but things have entered into a stalemate rather then an actual peace. The Empire does not pass within our borders now and nor do we to them. This however, does not apply to their erstwhile allies and we are mustered to repel their prodding forces. In the meantime, we wait and we prepare.

    Peace is only a term, to re-arm and re-prepare for the next war. This time, we will wield the greatest weapon of all.



    Goal: To create a living, breathing world through the creation of variant cities. Based on the TFOS concept, drawing upon other sources, but ultimately all centered around one world.

    And eventually, space-locales.

    The following are a list of regional powers, unclaimed by others or crafted/in progress by various folks to reflect the flavor of the world and its immense diversity.

    United States of America( @Ringmaster)

    Korea( @Minerva)




    Transylvania( @Ringmaster)





  2. Appreciate it. Right now, since I need the break and can't GM atm, trying to go back to old projects. Though before you claim those, gonna see if any of the vets are interested first. Those who were part of the original/had their own ideas. There are some guidelines I want in though, if possible.

    One, this is an Earth after the war with the Galra Empire and their allies vs Earth and their allies. The space program is known as the Galaxy Garrison and combines a gestalt of Earth natives(including monsters and native-born alien races, like Starfleet) as their recruits. Second, looking over your Mirror entry, I'd like you to write up a more extensive UN thing here. I like the concept and we could use a bit more of that kinda thing, to balance out the School of Heroes.

    Which brings us to the other main events that occurred that require a nod.

    One is that the Watchtower Project has been done several times...Once during WWII, all the way up through and to the present day.

    Second, is that during the nineties, was when the Galra Invasion force struck and were driven off by the heroes of that generation. The wreckage they left behind was then reverse engineered and studied to produce the Watchtower world as it would become, which gave them an edge in fighting off the Galra when they returned.

    Which prompted an 'Enemy Mine' with the local supernatural forces who joined the fray openly in the public eye.

    In between this time, the Watchtower and the World Council came to political blows. Watchtower was disinterested in becoming a military arm, citing that their ability to intervene without red tape and bereft of any nationalistic banner enabled them to act both swiftly, as well as without getting bogged down.

    The World Council on the other hand, claimed that without their funding, Watchtower would be in no position to make demands and considering how volatile the graduates had become in their respective countries, it was only right that they learn discipline. IE, to obey their respective leaders.

    Seeing it as a way to make their heroes, into weapons? Watchtower opted to resign in full, their equipment bought out by private sector and reassembled, to become independent. A move that displeased many in the World Council. Thus began the arms race of corporations, which led into the Omnic Crisis and the formation of Overwatch.

    The Omnic Crisis differs from that of the canon....And was prompted by Cyberdyne Industries, who created an A.I. as a method to enable a 24/7 eye on every Omnic Labor droid that passed through its factories. Skynet turned rogue however and without warning, turned on its creators- The Omnic Crisis, waged on many battlefields.

    Though aided by the Watchtower, the World Council chose to initiate Overwatch- An organization that would be answerable to them, to fill the role Watchtower under their command would have given. To this day, the Watchtower and Overwatch programs retain a certain degree of rivalry.

    Oh. A list of Corporations would be neat too.


    @Minerva @Michale CS @C.T. @OrlandoBloomers @Schnee Corp Lawyer
  3. Tyler Haak

    Looking much like the creature from the grudge, Tyler crawled off the side of her bed from beneath the blanket as she woke up, trying to force herself out of bed and not knowing how else to do so. She always felt so weak upon waking, like having a massive hangover and being dehydrated and having vertigo at the same time. The fact that she had not eaten when they arrive last night did not help at all, and she cursed herself for it. Her hair and skin were back to their normal color from the warmth she’d absorbed under the covers through the night and when she was finally capable of pulling herself to a wobbly standing position in front of a mirror, for a brief moment she saw the person she used to be.

    How she wanted to smash that damned mirror, but refrained, unwilling to break something that didn’t belong to her. Instead, the woman went to shower, taking her sweet time to do so and get dressed. When she emerged from the girls hall and moved into the dining area. There were three men there - well, one man and two boys – and one of those boys she did not recognize. Her body instantly tensed, but the other two were sitting with him rather normally so she figured he’d already introduced himself and was benign.

    Still warm from the shower, and still looking like pre-E.I. Tyler, she moved to the table to find a spot next to Otto and took a seat. Her stomach grumbled at the sight and smell of food, so she wasted no time in starting in on the plate in front of her, not even bothering to greet anyone – though that was normal for her.
  4. The woman’s hand wasn’t shaking from fear as she took the gun, no it was shaking from need. This little game was going to get Jessica her next fix.

    "He he he!" She sounded like a drunk shrew.

    HE had promised. Yes…he had. If she would fill in as a player at the table, she’d get her fix! The bitch of a woman had already given her own kid, why not wager her life?

    Her head tilted to the side with the touch of the cold metal to her temple before she decided seconds later to place the gun in-between her lips. Her sunken eyes closed and with what little sanity she had left, she prayed to a forgotten God.

    Get mami the good stuff.....Jessica shakily squeezed her trigger finger in.

    The gun was almost thrown at the next person as Jessica laughed.
  5. When Piper took her seat, she'd tried not to make eye contact with any of the spectators. If she won the money, she didn't want to have any of these people-shaped wall-stains haunting her dreams. When the nightmare ends, it ends. No going back. No revisits. No traumatizing flashbacks, save for maybe this one. She'd have a new life. A new name. Maybe after building that mansion, there'd be enough change to afford a real personality or more solid motivations.

    She was getting lost in her own dreams, silly things that they were, she told herself. But her amusement at realizing she'd daydreamed through a suicide only a few steps away from her almost made it bearable. This was so not her element. The therapist, during her last visit, had told her to try a break from routine--"Live a little."

    Sure thing, doc. But only a little. How little? She'd find out in a minute. She giggled. It was wrong, she knew. This was serious, she knew. But how could she be serious? The situation was so absurd, right?

    The gun landed in front of her. People flinched. She cowered.

    Moment of truth.

    A moment later she was grinning hysterically, and she didn't know why--scratch that. It was force of habit. After all, if she lived through it all, she'd have no reason to abandon etiquette.Though if she failed...

    What a dive to die in! She hoped they wouldn't do anything too bad to her body afterward. She changed her mind about removing her cardigan. This place was full of low-lives and pervs.

    Suddenly she stood up, waving the gun as though it were a cordless phone. "What happens if I get the bullet... But I miss?"

    She didn't get a serious answer. Fine. She decided she'd put it to her mouth. If she was going to die in this hole, she wasn't going to make checking against her dental records easy though her inner germaphobe protested. She didn't know where the gun had been, and the place was definitely full of pervs and low-lives.

    "Live a little!" her former therapist shouted in her mind.

    And with that, Piper placed her lips around the barrel. Braced the handle against the tabletop. Closed her eyes... And, awkwardly, holding the gun with both hands...pulled... the... trigger.


    Piper let out a muffled shriek and gagged as the crowd expressed their disappointment and relief(but mostly disappointment). She practically spat out the gun, wiping the nozzle ineffectively against the tabletop. Then, under the table so as to be less unsightly about it.

    She passed it along carefully, forcing a weakly apologetic smile at the next person.

    Her enthusiasm was real, but she still felt a little ill. How much was nerves and how much was the gun's germs?

    "Live a little!" shouted her therapist.

    She decided to try not to worry about it.

    OOC: I return to self-typecasting as the neurotic fish-out-of-water.
    • Like Like x 1
  6. Danish midget took the revolver and pressed it to the roof of his mouth, barely supressing a bout of giggling.

    CLICK! the dane sighed as if downcast and put the revolver back down on the table
  7. The gangster running the game cursed in Russian and grabbed the pistol off the table. Glaring at the delinquents around him, he loaded another bullet into the chamber and spun it. Then he slammed it back down on the table and shouted for the game to continue.

    Start again from D6, but now 1 AND 2 counts as death.

  8. Smiling confidently, Abrahm Donahue picked up the gun and ran his eyes along the barrel. Twirling the gun around his index finger like some showdown cowboy from a spaghetti western, he pointed the gun at each member at the table mouthing the words "Bang, bang, bang."

    With no job and no money, Abrahm had run out of options a day ago in the muddy alley outside the bar. Winters were cold...too cold to live another day in the squalor of a pitiful life such as his. Thirty grand...he had thirty grand when he stepped into this shit hole of a town and three cardsharks later he was eating half a pizza crust from a garbage can outside Luigi's on the corner.

    "Bet it all and you'll never lose,"
    His brother had told him, pulling down his shades far enough to wink at him from behind his tower of chips. "Best bets are when you put it all on the table...we Donahues got the best luck when it comes down to All in or All out."

    All in or all out...what better game then Russian Roulette?

    The blood and gore of the first guy lay askew in his seat and with a hitch to his stomach, a gag in his throat, he wiped the blood from the chair with a dirty bar-rag and took the seat, shrugging to the table occupants.

    "Let's get this party started then..." he muttered.


    The sound was a twig snapping or maybe a gear breaking in some massive reverberated through his being like a chime.

    All in or All out...Donahues come out on top all the time.

    Maybe there was something to what his brother said...either way he was safe another round and spun the gun on the table like a top, chuckling.

    "Olly Olly Oxenfree ya'll...time to see who gets 'tagged' eh?"
    • Like Like x 1
  9. The others seemed, for whatever reason, to hesitate. Shouldn't another bullet meant twice the excitement?

    Piper pushed back from the table, half standing to reach across the table for the revolver, asking permission with her eyes.

    None protested, and as her hand touched the handle, she realized what they knew: If it wasn't her turn, she'd pay with her life.

    Wait, or would that mean it was her turn? The idea of applying initiative to a game of Russian Roulette sort of screwed with the usual semantics you used when talking in cliches about fate.

    Don't think about that now. Just find out. Two bullets. More danger. Live a little.

    Live a little more. A little more, just a little more can lead to lots. Just live for now. Just live.

    She sat back down, holding the gun as before with both hands, fractionally more confident by appearances as she placed the gun in her mouth.

    Say, hadn't the dwarf guy--

    She felt her fingers slip, and in the moment of realization, her stomach churned full of the panicked curses she'd never get to shout at her own stupid corpse.


    Living. Living a little more. Two more coulda-been-deaths. By now she was feeling a sort of elated calm. Queasily serene, and feeling just a bit invincible. She felt like doing something stupid. But what could she do to top what had just happened? She tossed the gun clumsily from one hand to the next a couple of times, winking at Abraham and finally spin-pushing it across the table like a toy top toward the next player.

    Ha! Piper could be flashy too.
  10. Nothing mattered anymore. Job lost, wife lost, children lost, house lost. Even he was lost in this world, this bitter and cut throat world where if you stopped paying attention for a single second, you realize you've been left behind with no way to catch back up. Only one thing was ever true: Life and Death. Joseph clung to this basest truth like a life raft, the only thing making sense. He hoped for death, but was always granted life. He didn't understand why his life persisted in torturing him, but he had made a game out of it. He would try every chance way to die, and if he survived them all, then he would give life a second chance, even when he knew it wasn't worth it.

    Grabbing the gun, the odds only slightly in his favor now, he felt time slow to a crawl, every event happening like an explosion, only to be outdone and forgotten by the next. The barrel spinning, locking into place, the pistol assuming the killing position, trigger being pressed by his flexing finger, like the guillotine coming down....


    The room filled with a loud explosion, followed by deafening silence. The man no one knew nor cared to know was dead before them, his head plastered behind him, just another mess to be cleaned up. But Joseph had gotten his final wish, a way out of the system. And if you looked close enough, you would swear you could see a smile...
  11. The gangsters and lowlifes cheered, those who had bet on Joseph flinging down their money and storming out. The dropped loot was gathered by the other heavies, who kept a close watch on the tables as the excitement continued.

    Four chambers left, and only one bullet in them...

    Who would be the next to bow out?

    (Next roll is D4 and a 1 is a kill)
  12. Snagging the gun from the poor sod who'd offed himself, Abraham flicked an uninviting chunk the barrel, pausing to wipe off the gun on Johnathan's shirt...not like the poor fucker was using it anymore. A glance across the table showed him that he'd 'jumped the gun' on the order...a pun that brought a bray of laughter from his lips, sudden as it was barking. That girl across the table...the one who'd spun the gun with the nervous twitch-smile of a rabbit caught in headlights...she was a cute one.

    Hell, if he had more then two pennies to rub together he might have asked her if she wouldn't accompany him to the bar for a round or two...grab a drink while the bullet lullaby lulled their opponents to an eternal rest.

    Eh...but who would want a washed up bum like him?

    A wink...what did a wink mean?

    He returned it with a flourish, tipping the gun into his mouth and feeling the cold press of the barrell on the roof of his mouth...and as far back as he could push it across his upper jaw.

    What if someone had the flu...or something worse?

    Ironic if passing illnesses like ricochet bullets ended him...long after his opponents had blown themselves bloody.

    "One for the money," He muttered, clenching his finger against the trigger. "And two..."


    He smiled, pulling out the gun and spinning it around the table. "For the show. Let's see if I can get through the whole saying huh? Night's still young so shoot em up and pass em out, I'm winnin me some cash tonight."
    • Like Like x 1
  13. "Now were talking!"

    Jonathan laid his hands on the revolver again. The next shot would either make him richer than most business executives, or more dead than most famous rock-stars. Then again, he didn't care that much. Life was meant to be lived, and how could you feel alive if you weren't under constant threat of dying?

    With a broad smile on his face, despite his sweaty palms, Jonathan put the revolver against the side of his head in a dramatic fashion. "Let's see if I can get you guys some BANG for your buck, eh?" he said, before he pulled the trigger.

    A dry click sounded and Jonathan's quivering face shone with excitement. He was ALMOST disappointed it had not been his time. Almost, because GOD how great it felt just to be ALIVE!

    He put the revolver down on the table and gave it a spin. "Next!" he yelled elatedly, as he knew the others chances had become very slim.
  14. the danish midget grabbed the pistol, drew back the hammer and planted the barell into the roof of his mouth

    the revolver fired with a wet, slightly muffed bang, and the audience and all at the table were showered with blood, and those closes to the dane pulled chips of skull from their hair.

    as his short, rotund body toppeled from the chair, the dane's eyes seemed to twinkle, stuck in an expression with michevious glee as they glased over.
  15. Three were dead... and four remained.

    As fresh bets and raises were made, the gang leader came forward and flung the midget's body from the chair. Teeth grinning around a clamped cigar he took the pistol from the dead Dane's hand and opened the chamber.

    His eyes glinted at each of the survivors as he loaded the bullets... one... two.... three...

    The crowd roared and drummed the tables, yelling for the game to begin.

    Placing the pistol on the table, the leader spun it and withdrew into shadow.

    Only one would survive this round... and walk away with the prize...

    [Start again from D6. 1,2 or 3 is a kill.]
  16. Before the revolver stopped turning, Jonathan had puts his hands on the gun. Three bullets, three empty chambers. This meant that there was a fifty percent chance of getting a bullet. The chances could get worse after the first shot, or infinitely better.

    "well. If there's only going to be one winner tonight, I might as well be the one to blow my brains out first, innit?" He said while smirking. "I've survived two bullets, I think it's about time to say 'ad-you'"

    His horrible french and gallows humor not-withstanding, He once again pressed the gun against his temple, he grinned widely, and pulled the trigger.

    His hand was unsteady, and the shot merely took out the front of his skull and his right eye. He wasn't dead yet, but it would not be long without medical care. And who WOULD care? As the shock and blood-loss overtook Jonathan's senses, a last thought crossed his mind. "Heh...It was a bad idea...but god I enjoyed it..."
  17. Before the pistol could pass to another, Abe snagged the handle and twirled it up to the side of his head. He could hear the gurgled gasps of the guy on the floor...dying as he choked on his own life and couldn't help but compare him to how things had been before tonight...the frost on his threadbare blanket in the morning, the bent way his body seemed to freeze and how the food he scrounged only brought the cold into his core, like drops of ice on a flickering flame...or choking on blood.

    "Three to get ready." He said with a wink. Ready? Ready for what? The money here would go as fast as the last bit...and by this cycle he was held in death's grasp.

    Death might as well just deus ex machina this bullet into his head.

    Taking a breath, he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.


    Spinning the gun on his finger again, Abe winked to the girl across the table...flirting with death one might say, since one of them was bound to bite the bullet...literally.

    "Hey good lookin," He croaked, sliding the gun toward her, "Take a spin on the adrenaline train...this shit is addicting."