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Solaris · 01-09-2012, 12:52 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Solaris.

The table was set, the guests were being called, and every piece of the puzzle was coming together.

Sitting in his trademark suit, eyes ever shadowed, mouth smiling wide, a very powerful man was waiting for eight of his Hitmen to arrive with his guests, one of whom would be his future successor. This powerful man was known as Don Itallio and he was the leader of The Mafia. By now, he was old, and he knew it. In an ever growing multiverse, someone with a weakened mind would not be able to run an operation as large as this, so after searching far and wide withing his ranks, his partner suggested the search be more broad.

<font color="#441111">To see him as cheerful as he was, gleefully twiddling his thumbs at the most extravagant chair out of the ten surrounding the table, was not something that any normal person would view and live to tell the world. The woman who was watching this was of course anything but. She was his partner, Femme Itallio.
"I see you are pleased with yourself."

"Well, why wouldn't I be? In mere moments, I will see the face of my successor, and a feud will begin over who is worthy of stepping into my place. It's exciting. Unlike anything I've seen."

"But... are you sure you are up to it? There's your condition..."

"Nonsense! This will be a simple exercise, the hardest part is the first plunge, and my Hitmen are taking care of that, moving the rest of them shouldn't be any effort at all."

Femme looks worriedly, but knows that there is no convincing him otherwise. She has worked under and with him long enough to know that when he's set on something, he will accept no other path.

At that moment, there was a sound, a riff of the saxophone, emitting from the doors around the table, eight ambiguous humanoids in suits, each wearing a similar uniform to their boss, with a few variations here and there, and carrying the numb body of one of the successor-to-be's entered the room. They each set down their respective choice down in their seat and moved back into the shadows.

"They've arrived."

"So I've noticed."
Composing himself, he raised his hands and snapped them to life.

"Hello there my guests. Today I bring the eigh-" he pauses for a moment to re-count the beings in the room, "nine of you here for an opportunity unlike any other. In the next few days, weeks, months, maybe even years, you will go on an adventure unlike any other, you will see multiple worlds, meet extravagant people, and learn from the best the multiverse has to offer. For some of you, that will be all you see before you die, never to see me, my organization, or your home again. And, for one, very lucky, person, you will see all this, and not only live to tell the tale, but also embark on a very different journey. One in which you are groomed to be my successor, the de facto leader of a mafia family that spans the entire multiverse."

The eight listening to him are perfectly still, despite some of them wishing otherwise. Each forced to stare ahead at whatever being was placed in front of them.

"Ah yes, I forgot to mention, you can move only if you have the intent to eat the food in front of you. Now moving on, the man that has so wonderfully introduced you is none other than Don Itallio, the current Godfather of The Mafia. I am his faithful partner, Femme. As he said, you will be moved across the universe, moving from locale to locale, until only one of you remains. This final contestant will live on as a being far more powerful than they could ever previously imagine, controlling this entire organization. But before that, you need to jump over the hurdles that are your fellow successor's-to-be."

"Now, that we've introduced ourselves, we will do the same for you. Femme, the chart if you will?"

He takes out reading glasses and inspects the chart with notes on each of the nine chosen. Clearing his throat, he begins, pointing at the large cyborg man, accompanied by a proportionally large horse right behind his seat. His military wear and and light brown cut accompany his red skin and a slightly miffed face. "This is Khagan Toghun Tegüs, a genetically altered behemoth of a man. He is a warlord without mercy, preferring to rely solely on his strength, but still curious and open to technological advances. This strength is unlike any other, but while he sees himself as a cultured man, he has trouble grasping the nuances of polite company. He is accompanied by Ariq, a horse."

Moving his finger to a young scraggly boy, wearing ripped clothes and in bare feet, his face tired and focused on the food in front of him. "This young lad is Artemis Holloway, while you can't see him, he is accompanied by a demon, who we shall call Grendel. The pair have been together for quite a while, surviving on the streets as best they can, making use of Artemis' determination and Grendel's shapeshifting to live as well off as a lonely orphan can. I would imagine that Artemis only wishes to survive, but Grendel... let's not dwell on the possibilities."

The next person on the pointer end of his finger had a live tiger on his plate, that was being devoured with average effort on his part. The moustachioed man, currently in a tux and wide-brimmed Stetson hat was smiling radiantly. "This magnificent piece of work is Johnny Raptor. I'll cut the nuances for this one, he's a man, a man's man. Actiony. Fond of fighting whatever he deems evil and very capable of doing so. He's thinks himself the star of the show, and he had very little reason to think otherwise. Let's see how that changes as time goes on."

With some reluctance, the focus changed to a bearded human, face focused and full of passion. "This is Rayeln the Scourge, a revolutionary leader who revolted against his upper class in a series of long and bloody battles. He is inspiring, powerful, and merciless. While he failed to defeat the royalty, he was a living legend amongst the lower class. He is a true comrade, ready to do anything for what he believes in. And I mean anything."

Next, was a deer. A white one, with a gold laurel around his neck and a cigarette in his mouth. He looked pretty pissed off. "This piece of work is Exida Exis. Don't let looks deceive you, he is more than capable of taking down each and every one of you. That gold around his neck isn't for show, it allows him a power over those weaker than him, and some stronger. It turns him into what he is, a showoff and an egotistical jerk. Soon, he will learn to hate each and every one of you. Don't take it personally, that's just how he is."

If he could, Exidia would have jumped for Itallio's neck. Ignoring him, he moved on. The suited being that followed, face shadowed by a hat, was completley still. "This is Felgurd. He is not very accustomed. While he may only look like a very tall man, if he had the proper light you would see a rather grotesque sight. Getting to the point, he is a sentient mask, capable of growing by connecting himself to other things. He is strong, but without purpose, perhaps this is just what he needed. Watch out for him, he bites."

The sole female was the next to get the focus, dressed in a white woolen robe and in tan, honey skin. Her mismatched eyes looked curiously around at the others. "I would like to introduce, Altara Elwynn, a druid. As a result of something, she has no memories other than her powerful druidic magic. She is naive and inquisitive, but not defenseless. She has the power of possession, which can lead to alterations and new levels of power. And in case that doesn't save her, she's also got an edge in her arcane instincts."

Finally, the end of the steep climb to the roller-coaster to come was reached. A simply grey alien, red eyes, spotless labcoat, one red glove and one metal gauntlet, and goggles placed so perfectly. "Our final candidate is Doctor Zenith Grey. "Our one and only Vella Kehn has no gender, but for simplicity, I will say that he is a surgeon, the very best. Back on his colony he thought himself a hero, one of few to hold any name at all. Due to a visit to a dead planet, he has a gauntlet, capable of a few convenient feats. Smart, cocky, fast, and skilled, he dreams of charting each and every species, perhaps this will aid him on his quest."

"Now that you know the why and the who, let me take you to the where. I hope that you haven't eaten too much, the ride can be a little bumpy."

With another sax riff, the ten sitting around the table were, from one perspective, gone. From the other, the table, chairs, doors, and Hitmen were all replaced with blackness for one moment, followed by one of many sights. There were few constants around, one of them being that everything seemed artificial. The grass wasn't as lush and the sun wasn't shining just right. Others were in rooms, with portraits of mostly men plastered on the walls. It went on as thus. Had they been bound to the time, they would experience voices (arguing), people (watching), and maybe even machines (doing... things).

The voices they could hear began. "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the one and only government facility on the planet. This is where the magic happens, all of it. As the public is well aware, here the bills are signed, the laws are decided on, and the courts do their work for justice. What is lesser known, is that this is also where spies are trained, where all sorts of dark sciences are practiced and researched, and where they filmed the moon landing. You will have a hard time finding a more vital location on this planet, which is why you are free to do whatever you wish here."

"You need to know who's in power and how to deal with, or around them. Those of you who do so, get the gold. If you can't, then it's likely that you'll be dead and the rest of your peers will move on. But I'm sure that won't happen for a while," despite not seeing him, everyone feels him wink at them, "Good luck my successors, may the best of you win."

And with that, they returned to normal, or as normal as they could be, spread across the facility...[/color]

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GBCE · 01-11-2012, 06:34 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Flummox.

[color=#99z8rz]The walls disappeared. The old man and his goons disappeared. The room, gone. Where…?

The clicking of shoes on hard concrete tore Felgurd from his confusion. He performed a quick scan of the room. If he were discovered without having the absolute upper hand, the results would be… unpleasant. Unwanted memories surfaced in Felgurd’s broken mind, memories of that frosted bridge in Alaska. No. Tolgurd’s fate is reserved only for him, and him alone.

He had to hide. Where to hide? The room was bare. Red carpet. White paint. A mahogany desk sat alone in one corner, but it was too small to make an adequate hiding place. It had a high ceiling; the rafters were not an option. Or…

A clenched fist hit the wall, hard. Feet-hands gripped the crumbling plaster, hauling their bearer upwards, ever upwards. Another arm sprouted from Felgurd’s backside, emerging from the rear of his collar and gripping the wooden rafter securely. Swinging legs found purchase on the beams at the instant fumbling hands found the doorknob.

The door swung inwards with a soft, high-pitched creaking. Two sets of footsteps reverberated through the room, the sharp noise of high heels only slightly muffled by the carpet, and the heavy thud of thick boots clearly penetrating the walls and floor, causing the rafters to vibrate slightly.

“Sir, I clearly think that –“
“I don’t care what, you think, Mrs. Rensfield. I’ve started this operation and I’m going to finish it.”
“But sir –“
“I brought you here for a reason, Mrs. Rensfield. Now would you like to do your job or not?”
“Yes sir.”

The steps moved over to the desk. Felgurd, his curiosity aroused, peeked around the corner of the beam. A man sharply dressed in military uniform stood behind the desk, rifling through a filing cabinet. His iron grey hair stood out sharply from his deeply tanned and scarred face. A woman stood opposite, clothed in a grey jacket and skirt. Felgurd couldn’t see her face; she was facing towards the man.

The man found what he was looking for, and pulled out a black folder from one of the drawers.

“Have a look here.”
“What are these?” The woman opened the folder and began going through it. Elaborate diagrams were drawn on wide sheets of paper, but none of them made any sense to Felgurd.
“Those schematics are the plans for Operation Violent Falcon.”
“These plans seem very simplified. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No. There are simple plans for a simple task.”
“Sir, this operation won’t be easy, if that’s what you’re –“
“Not easy, no. Bloody, yes. Probably on both sides of the equation. But simple, yes. There’s only one way we can do this, and that’s the way we are going to have to choose.”
“Look, even you acknowledge that this will come with heavy sacrifice. Call it off now while it’s still in the preliminary stages of planning.”
“No. This has been started and it will end. One of us will have to die and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be us.”
“But sir, the USSR is a huge country –“
“It’s all been taken care of.”
“But you can’t seriously be thinking of destroying millions of –“
“They’re the Reds. We can do whatever we want to them, godamnit.”
“But with such a low population density, the costs of killing every single one of them will be astronomical –“
“But it’s in the budget, Mrs. Rensfield. This is absolutely necessary, I assure you.”

The two continued speaking as they exited the room. Voices faded down the hall. The rafters creaked, loudly, as Felgurd let himself down. He was confident no one else was in the room. He stepped over to the desk. Perhaps there was something of use to him there. He opened all the drawers of the file cabinet, but all its contents were papers. Felgurd could read, but not very well, and papers were no use to him anyway.

The desk was next. The drawers were a little tight fit, maybe water damaged a bit. They squeaked when opened, but hopefully it was not noticeable. There were seven drawers; three on either side and a wide one under the top. It was in the latter that Felgurd found something useful: a pistol.

He’d seen these things work before, but never actually used them. Now that he was stuck in this strange place, it was probably a good time to learn. They could be deadly. He’d seen their effect on other humans, and Tolgurd… Tolgurd!

But no. No. He had to put his past behind him. It was all resting on him now. Only he could avenge Tolgurd. No one else. No one else knew him, cared for him, loved him. No one.

He picked up the pistol. It felt light in his hand. He tried to mimic the poses he’d seen other humans use guns with, but none of them felt right. He tried holding it with one hand, two hands, sideways. It was just so unnatural. He held it up to the light. It was nothing extraordinary. A chunk of black metal, bent and twisted into another shape. He tossed it from one hand to the other. Maybe it was broken.

A careless fumble. A sudden cracking noise. It was quieter than Felgurd expected. Plaster rained from the ceiling. He dropped the gun. Footsteps came pounding towards the doorway. Thinking quickly, Felgurd sprinted over and slammed the door, hard. There were shouts, and the footsteps came faster. What could make a good doorstop…? There, the desk! Felgurd dashed to the desk and tossed it in front of the door.

There weren’t any windows in the room. No escape routes. The walls. He could go through the walls. Taking the file cabinet, Felgurd rammed it clean through the nearest wall, the surrounding plaster and concrete cracking and tearing chunks from the wall. He crawled through the hole and into the next room.

Fortunately, it was empty.[/color]

GBCE · 01-11-2012, 01:52 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Digital Hellhound.

The Khagan had never been kidnapped before.

He supposed it had only been a matter of time. In the days before his reign, abduction had been a deeply grounded part of Pankhaganate politics. Maybe one of the lesser khans had decided to bring it back with a bang – it wouldn't have been the first time.

But no - the more he thought on what had happened, the more he became convinced something much more powerful than a pompous border-lord was behind this. He'd missed almost every single word of their host's speech, his neural implants going crazy from the unknown language coming out of his mouth. The few words he'd caught had been perfectly understandable, but the machinery embedded in his head had disagreed, spouting off error after error and blacking out his senses. Curiously enough, they had now decided on one of the many lost tongues of the Franks, called Italian. He wasn't the only abductee, by far. The Frank had given eight names and eight descriptions, though to his dismay the Khagan had missed most of his own. It was fair to assume their enigmatic captor knew who he was in any case.

The reason was clear, at least. They'd been brought here for some kind of game show or competition. He wasn't sure if he'd heard the Italian right, but it appeared they were expected to, strangely enough, kill eachother. He wondered if one could get extra points from a particularly exotic method.

But first things first. His belly was growling like a wild beast and he had no intention of letting it stay that way.

Toghun surveyed the long hall he'd stumbled into, admiring the golden-framed paintings lining the walls and the lavish red carpet beneath his feet. It was nothing compared to his palace, of course, but he'd been to enough courts to recognize a place of power when he saw one. The lights were off, though his ocular grafts made sure he only barely noticed. The air smelled of wet wood and polish, accompanied by the immense stench of Ariq from behind him. It didn't seem too worried about the change in scenery, but the Khagan tugged at its reins slightly to comfort it regardless. Sadly, nothing there smelled in any way edible in the least.

There was a security camera, as well, hanging from a tangled mess of cables in the corner. It was pointed straight at him. He'd expected nothing less. They had to keep an eye on this competition somehow.

"Greetings, captor! Might I receive a recap of the rules of your contest? There was a bit of problem earlier!" he called out to the machine, in what his brain told him was grammatically perfect Italian, though it also claimed his accent was in some way 'utterly atrocious'. He suspected the machine had been programmed by one of these mysterious Italians.

There was no response. Toghun shrugged and with one swift movement, put his hand on Ariq's barrel-like neck and hoisted himself upon onto its back. The great beast let out a long hiss at its master's touch, foul-smelling vapors escaping from its mouth.

The Khagan paused, taking time to process whatever his audio-feed augments had picked up while he was distracted. There had been a gunshot and running steps fourteen seconds ago from somewhere to his right. It seemed a destination as good as any for the time being.

He patted Ariq on its steel-like hide and it began moving with a slow gait. The floorboards groaned under its weight and bent, leaving a fairly obvious trail for anyone to follow. But then, he had no intention of ever bothering with hiding in any case.

---

((No, I'm totally not regretting my choice of color now, why do you ask?))

GBCE · 01-13-2012, 07:15 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by The Deleter.

The President and two of his aides were just about to put the finishing touches on the Superhuman Registration Bill when Johnny Raptor burst into the room.

The room happened to be a perfect replica of the President’s office in the White House, complete with the pot of flowers on the coffee table, the flags, the pictures, everything. There was a series of false windows that showed a view of the grounds outside the actual White House, except if you touched them you’d find out they were screens. It was meant to keep the President comfortable during his stays at the Presidentialgon, because the man who currently held the position didn’t like unfamiliar things. And Johnny Raptor, who was dressed in a ragged shirt, jeans and worn boots at the moment, was very unfamiliar at the moment.

“Excuse me,” he said in a tone far calmer than he actually was, “who are you? And how did you get past -”

“No time to explain, Mister President!”

Johnny dashed up to the desk. He gave a manly nod to one of the aides, a woman chosen for her looks instead of her political ability, and punched the other one out with a sound like God slapping one of his angels. As the man fell, Johnny grabbed his shoulder with his other hand, and then grabbed his face and pulled. To the surprise of everyone but Johnny, the aide’s face came away with a rubbery noise.

The face underneath was green and snakelike. It was also slightly squashed from where the snout had been forced behind the mask. The woman aide gave a little shriek, and the President paled.

“What the hell is that?!” he cried.

Johnny stared grimly at the snake-man.

“A COBRA,” he snarled. “A Cybernetic Organism Bred for Recon and Assasination. One of Viper’s creations. And,” he added, looking up to the President,” it was planning to kill you, Mister President.”

“But, but,” the President spluttered,” why?”

“Because you are the only thing standing between them and Total World Domination.”

Johnny hauled the Cobra into a chair and proceeded to tie him up with his own tie.

“You have the launch codes for America’s nuclear arsenal, correct?” he asked as he worked.

“Well, yes, but I don’t see-“

“The codes are, by sheer coincidence, the activation codes for an extremely powerful and dangerous alien artefact. Your tie, please? Thank you. This artefact could, if activated, wipe out all reptilian life on Earth. And that includes Viper, who want to prevent this artefact from being fired. But they can’t destroy it, because of advanced alien metals, so they decided to do the next best thing and kill you to prevent the launch codes ever being used.”

Johnny Raptor finished his tying and stood, leaving the Cobra tied to the chair. The President looked aghast.

“You saved my life,” he said, breathlessly.

“He’s such a hero,” crooned the female aide.

“I only do my best for America, ma’am.” Johnny flashed a tabloid smile, causing the woman to giggle uncontrollably.

Suddenly, a gunshot. Everyone’s head snapped to the doorway.

“Another one?” said the President.

“Most likely.”

Johnny vaulted over the Presidential desk and grabbed the female aide around the waist.

“Come on, babe,” he said. “You and me, we’ll save the world together. Sorry to bother you, Mister President.”

And with his usual warcry of “JOHNNYYYYYY RAPTOOOOOOOOORRRRRR,” he stormed out of the office at top speed, the aide giggling under one arm.

The President sat back in his chair and tried to recollect his thoughts. Wow, that Johnny Raptor, huh? He sure was something. He’d saved his life. He’d get a medal for that later. It didn’t matter what those FBI fellas said – Johnny Raptor was an okay guy, and in the President’s books, okay guys got medals and a decent house in the suburbs. Now, where was he? Ah, yes, the Superhuman Regi-

He looked down at the piece of paper with “SUPER PERSON REGI REGISTRA THINGY” crayoned on it. He looked at the unconscious bodyguard, tied to the chair. He recalled having never seen that female aide before in his life, and that the walls of his office were six inches of reinforced concrete.

He began to suspect something was terribly wrong.

*-*

A mafia, huh?

Johnny Raptor was no stranger to mafias. He’d taken down plenty. The Italian Mafia, the Russian Mafia, the Lemur Mafia (boy, that was an adventure he didn’t enjoy recalling). But The Mafia seemed bigger than those somehow, as if it was the Mafia to end all Mafias.

Good. It’d take longer to take down. Johnny hated it when enemies didn’t put up enough of a fight. He just hoped Don Italio enjoyed knuckle sandwiches.

He skidded around a corner and headed down another corridor. Damn corridors, they were all alike in this place! And the lady under his arm, as pretty as she was, was too busy swooning over him to be of any help. Oh well. He had that effect on people. And an alien queen, at one point. That had been awkward.

He was no stranger to being kidnapped, either. It was highly inconvenient. There he’d be, wrestling Gretel or dating another lovely Russian blonde, when suddenly he’d be hit in the back of the head and black out, only to wake up tied to a chair or some sort of death contraption. It took vital days out of his schedule, and he didn’t like the powerlessness it entailed. How was he supposed to fight someone when he was unconscious? It was very annoying, and he wished it didn’t happen so often.

Right. Gunshot. Hang on.

He skidded to a halt at another junction, head snapping left and right as he tried to get his bearings. Unfortunately, the corridors were blank and pipe-filled as always. This wasn’t working the way he wanted it to.

So he punched through a wall.

“Ooh, Mister Raptor,” squealed the woman under his arm (what was her name again? Eh, didn’t matter) as plaster rained down. “You’re so strong!”

“Sure I am, lady.”

Johnny counted himself lucky he could tell the difference between plaster and concrete. He stepped through the hole in the wall into the room – what appeared to be the world’s dullest office – and made straight for the door.

Unfortunately, there was a leopard on the other side. This happened sometimes. Wild animals had it out for Johnny Raptor and would haunt him to the ends of the earth, and this leopard had somehow followed him to… wherever the hell it was he was now. Poor thing.

After five minutes of wrestling and yowling, Johnny managed to subdue the sudden, unexpected feline and render it unconscious. Standing atop the prone feline in triumph, he glanced over to the female aide for approval and saw her remove her rubber mask.

“Sssucker!” crowed the Viper assassin, and sprang for his neck. She met his fist coming the other way, did an impressive backflip and collapsed, as unconscious as the leopard.

Johnny took a moment to try and work out what the fuck just happened. Had they planted the leopard as a distraction? Had the aide been a COBRA all along? What was this about a gunshot? It was all very confusing. He relieved some of his stress by kicking the snake-woman on the floor sharply, but it didn’t help his confusion one bit. It was pretty clear Viper had infiltrated this compound –

“VIIIIPEEEEEERRRRRRR!!!”

And they were planning to do something nefarious. Yes, that was why he had been put here. This death tournament thing was a bunch of wombat gizzards. He had to save the President, and more importantly the world, from these nefarious terrorist snakes. He had to clean out the Presidentialgon of its reptilian infestation. That was what he was good at.

Right, first things first. Gunshot.

He hauled the leopard onto his shoulder.

“I’ll call you Zeus,” he said to it. The leopard responded with a non-committal grunt, which was good enough for Johnny. He sprinted out of the room, seeking adventure and leaving an unconscious woman and a trashed office behind him.

He had a vague inkling that someone, somewhere, was going to be very upset at him. He promptly ignored the feeling.

GBCE · 01-14-2012, 10:10 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by SteelKomodo.

Artemis blinked.

One minute, he’d been staring hungrily at a plate of the most appetizing food he’d ever seen in his life, only half-paying attention to someone ramble on about “rounds” and “competitors”, and the next…

He was in what basically amounted to a small cell; of a sort he’d seen when peering into prison windows as a reminder of what he had been trying to avoid all his life. The walls were all painted a uniform white, the sort of white that is so close to grey it could be called an invasion of personal space. The room itself was barren and box-like, save for a mere slit of a window that looked as though it had been put in as an afterthought, and a bed, which he was currently sitting on. From the feel of it underneath him, it certainly wasn’t the highest quality available.

What the effing hell just happened?! howled Grendel in thoughtspeak. The demon has been silent up until now, but the sudden change of locale had managed to unnerve him.

I don’t know, was the only reply Artemis could give. Right now, the urge to pinch himself to ensure he wasn’t dreaming was extreme.

That Don Italio guy had to be joking, Grendel continued, sounding panicked for the first time since Artemis had met him. There is no fucking way he could have just instantly transmitted us to… whatever this is! And what was that bullcrap about some freaky death tournament?! I didn’t transfer from Fan Maintenance on the Second Circle so I could…!

Artemis let the demon ramble on as he looked about the room. Years of getting in and out of trouble with the gangs and ruffians in the alleys of Portsheath had given him a knack for finding quick paths out of wherever he happened to be – he could make steps, climbing frames and footholds out of things that an ordinary man would never be able to think possible to navigate. A pile of cardboard trash could become an impromptu platform, or the bars of a fence a handy ladder. To a street urchin like him, the city was one big obstacle course.

But that was the city, where there was space and air. This was a stuffy little box of a room, with a window not even a mouse on a starvation diet could get through and a door that was, quite obviously, locked. And – worse luck – it was one of those fancy new digital locks with the number pads, which took trial and error to get right. Something that the boy was not prepared to go through at this moment in time, especially when those other people were out there.

Especially the deer.

He didn’t like the look of the deer.

A sudden sound reached his ears. It was hard to make out, at first, but after he’d hushed Grendel by smacking the side of his head, he identified it as the repetitive squeak of clean, corporate shoes on a polished floor, growing louder and closer by the second.

Someone’s coming, he thought.

Just what we need, snickered Grendel.

Artemis sighed. He hated it when Grendel suddenly became too happy.

*-*

Officer John Barrows was not having a good day. He’d woken up an hour after his alarm clock had gone off, meaning a big rush to work followed by screaming at other drivers. He’d got to his station to find that clueless bint at reception had misfiled all of his papers, meaning three hours’ worth of catching up on top of the filing he had to do that day already – the boss would cut his pay for sure at this rate. Then some jerk bumped him on the way into the cafeteria and spilled hot coffee all over his new trousers. He liked his new trousers, and made it very clear to the unfortunate coffee-spiller in words that no decent secret agent should use.

And now, to make matters worse, he had been assigned to Cell Block C today.

He vaguely wished, as he paced down the corridor, that it was someone else doing it. Some of the people (to use that term generously) were fine as long as you weren’t in the same room with them, and John would have preferred not to be if it meant keeping his bones intact, thank you very much. The stiffs in white coats had their hopes up – the death rate had been cut by seventeen per cent since last year – but that was no excuse for sending an innocent, reasonable man into what amounted to the tiger cage at the zoo. Or anyone else, for that matter.

He heard a sudden commotion from one of the cells. He frowned. You got rats in there sometimes, and the scuffling and squeaking was loud enough for anyone who worked hear regularly to hear. Most of the senior staff considered it a minor annoyance, but the newbies got unnerved very quickly, and the higher-ups had a hard time trying to quash the circulation of that ghost tale that kept springing around. Subject 27, was it? Load of old baloney.

He swiped the key card anyway, just to make sure. From the sound of it, there were quite a lot of rats in there, or at least one very big one. Better get Boris on Sanitation to step up with the poisons and traps and whatnot, or they’d have the run of this place.

He opened the door-

NOW!

Artemis’ arm moved reflexively. The boomerang span through the air and introduced itself to the side of the man’s head with a dull thud. He twisted as he fell, collapsing deadweight onto the floor, and so was in no condition to stop the boy as he stepped over his unconscious form, picked up the weapon and sprinted down the hallway as fast as his skinny legs could carry him.

Good work, kid, growled Grendel in his head. Now, what else do you remember about that Don Italiano bloke?

Something about an inheritance, Artemis thought has he skidded round a corner, but I’m not sure what kind.

Well, if money’s involved, then I’m not complaining. Now keep going! We have to find some information on where the fuck we are!

Wishing that the demon would be a bit more specific, Artemis bolted out of the door to Cell Block C and deeper into the complex.

GBCE · 01-17-2012, 03:46 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by henrythe7th7.

I was wondering if you could help me ~ how do I make new threads, it says I don't have premission to make a new one..

GBCE · 01-20-2012, 12:48 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Antarctic Wolf.

Smooth, shining, silvery, pristine walls suddenly surrounded Altara when before there had been strangers. Strange unfaltering candles in the ceiling completely illuminated the room which was no more than a couple of strides in length or width. Not a single object adorned the room, only a small decorated panel beside a long vertical slit in one wall made any break in the uniformity. There were no shadows but then again, why would there be? After all, she had no body, she was just a ghost.

A singular chime of a bell arose from nowhere and the slitted wall in front of her began to widen. The figure of a woman stretched its way across the floor as its owner stepped through the doorway. Her face was shadowed by a familiar hat and she wore grey from her wrists to her knees; every aspect of her feminine figure was accentuated by the sharp lines of her clothing. Altara shook her head, the woman’s immodesty was irrelevant, the only thing that mattered right was how attentive she was and whether she would notice the pale shimmering light where Altara stood. Her heels clacked sharply on the floor as the woman swivelled to face the decorative panel beside the door, muttering under her breath. Something in its cadence was frighteningly familiar. Intrigued, she made her decision—she had ended up here, somehow, because of her wish to reclaim her memories and here— right before her stood the first step on that path, tantalising her with her foreign and yet strangely familiar tongue. Now, strike her now, her instincts called out, she’s ripe for the picking.
With the silent grace only a ghost could muster, Altara glided up to the woman and stuck her with a mind like a dagger. The woman gasped, her eyes flew wide and her hands struck out in search of stability. She was awake, aware and desperately fighting for control yet her mind was dull, weak and she had been too slow. Her body abruptly slumped to the floor; its eyes fogged over as the last light of its consciousness faded away, Mrs. Rensfield was no more. Altara tore the final pieces of her opponent’s mind to shreds, the memories were now hers and even if she left the body, its occupant would only be a shadow of its former self. It was necessary, it had to be done she conceded, the information she had learned was indeed invaluable, who would have thought that these people would speak a language so like her long lost mother-tongue, Latin?

Using her newfound knowledge, Altara strode out of the room which she now knew to be an elevator. Walking and without the presence of its original mind, the body began to conform to its new owner’s appearance, readjusting its features to that of a softer, more youthful one; whilst this rearrangement was an unsettling feeling, it wasn’t the problem. She was growing slightly; to a height of 5”8 and her thinner, more delicate body found her current-clothes ill-fitting. Glancing around with a slight blush blooming in her cheeks, Altara spied a pair of soft white curtains tethered open with golden rope. Keeping her skirt up with one hand she fished out the fine, ornate dagger which had been strapped to her leg. What a thoughtful wedding gift she mused as she set to work, heedless of the escalating noises of violence and destruction in the distance. Once she finished she would head to the depths of this facility she decided. Everything about that level was highly classified and, according to her memories, anything classified in this place meant powerful. Well, she grinned, why leave something unknown when I have the means to find out?

GBCE · 01-22-2012, 02:39 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Yako.

Zenith made his way through sterile, cold white corridors filled with blinking, humming machines, one hand along the wall as a guide. He wondered what vaguely mundane adventure his work would give him today-- failure of the oxygen system? Accident repairing the engines? Spaceborne illness?

He slowed. These machines-- so shiny, so new, their construction different from anything he had ever seen. He stopped-- the weren't of Vella Rhos origin. Maybe he could touch it...

And he did-- very gingerly. No reaction-- he stepped closer to examine it thoroughly. It was definitely a computational device, though he could see no input. A server, perhaps? Red and green lights blinked rapidly under dark, shiny casing. It was covered in words, too, but Zenith's grasp of non-Vellan writing had always been weak.

So, either he had dreamt that dinner party and was still asleep, or on a cultivated alien planet-- if he remembered his alien glyphs right, the inhabitants called their planet "Earth"-- and entered into a nine-man deathmatch.

It felt far too real to be a dream.

Zenith moved on to inspect more of the machines, seeing if one might be familiar enough to use. In this hall, most were like the first he happened across-- totally unusable to him. Mostly, he repeated this idle, hopeless search so he could think about his situation without freaking too much.

He heard about these alien gladiatorial challenges before-- though nothing quite so abrupt. He didn't even remember he or his vessel being kidnapped. This just sort of... happened. Of course, how it happened didn't matter much now. Two things needed to be determined: first, wether or not this was beneficial to him; second, how he could win or get out, depending on what he decided for question one.

He would have continued this line of thought had he not heard footsteps and a voice coming down the hall. He panicked-- Earth had never met the Vella Kehn. They'd consider him a monster. And this was a government building-- they'd probably hand him off to the most important scientist, and he'd be subject to experimentation and probing. He looked around-- there was nowhere to hide. He could see down the hall now, make out a figure advancing, hear them talking more clearly.

Zenith took a deep breath and pressed himself against the wall, between two computers. Maybe they wouldn't notice his bright red articles of clothing and mistake him for the wall, pass him right by.

"Sir, I'm saying-- no, please, listen to me." They were talking on a radio to some distant party. Zenith understood that the sentient population of Earth had two sexes, but determining this person's was the last thing on his mind. They were frumpy-- disheveled hair and clothes, with dark circles under their eyes. "The weapons aren't ready yet, they're too unstable to use on the battlefield. Results have been highly variable--"

They stopped just past Zenith. "It's going to take us... three to five weeks to finish testing and build a stable model." They waited for a reply on the other end. "What, no! We couldn't turn it out that-- sir, this isn't just safety. Our own men could die if we roll these out too quickly." They paced back a couple of steps, further outlining the dangers of this mysterious weapon in terms Zenith didn't understand. He sighed with frustration.

"Currently, the misfire rate is--"

The human looked directly at him, falling silent.

Zenith stared back. He could hear a muffled voice coming from the other end of the radio.

"Sir, something's... come up. I'll radio back in a minute."

In the brief few seconds it took the human to clip the radio to their belt, Zenith struck.

The last thing she would see before blacking out was a small grey skinned man throwing his entire body at her head. She came to her senses not three minutes later, but when she looked around, she could find no trace of the strange alien.

She really needed to get sleep. These hallucinations were too much.

GBCE · 01-25-2012, 04:20 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Protoman.

"Bwahahahaha! Like a deer in the sights!"

Rayeln the Scourge was staring down the sights of his gun at a particular gold-wreathed deer. But Rayeln saw no deer, only an aristocratic exploiter of the common man! "No worry," said Rayeln to himself, stroking his beard. "He shall fall! The will of the peasants is mighty, the will of an aristocrat? Not so much. He will fall just like the walls of the Tsar, he shall crumble at my sword just as many an aristocratic exploiter has! AND HE WILL KNOW THE NAME OF RAYELN THE SCOURGE! HE WILL KNOW THE NAME OF THE PEOPLE! HE WILL KNOW THE NAME OF THE PROLETARIAT! AND WE SHALL NOT BE SI----"

Rayeln looked around and found he had drawn some attention to himself in the course of delivering his inner monologue, from both tourists and concerned law enforcement officials. He sheathed his laser sword (which he had drawn and raised to the heavens in the course of his speech) and ran towards the nearest cover he could find, chased only by confused looks.

The Cossack from beyond the stars looked around himself to get a lay o' the land. He had been using great marble pillars as cover, and behind him was a large statue of a man with a respectable beard, (though not nearly as grand as a Rultzvenian's.) The deer stood near a large obelisk in the center of the plaza. All around, there seemed to be men in business suits running in and out of buildings, many of them talking on giant cell phones straight out of the 1980s. "True aristocrats," he said, "Wearing such fancy clothing! They must all burn! Their flame will be extinguished at the hilt of my blade! They will writhe and, in death, their final sight shall be the beard of RAYELN THE SCOU----" Rayeln stopped himself, remembering the uncomfortable events of his last speech.

He went back to observing the deer/aristocrat, who seemed to have taken a liking to the food of a vendor without said vendor's explicit permission. Outraged at this blatant disregard for the struggle of the working man, Rayeln rushed across the mall as fast as his feet would take him, pretending to ride a horse as his war cry pierced the very sky itself.

After about two minutes of running and screaming, Rayeln met his target, baring his teeth and flashing his laserblade. He was not met with the aristocratic terror he had expected, but instead with a bland look of boredom. "What outrage!" he thought to himself, "NOBODY shows such blatant disregard for Rayeln the Scourge and lives to tell the tale!" The Cossack did not wait for the deer to justify this insult, instead raising his blade and aiming for the center of the deer's head.

"Do you care to introduce yourself before starting a fight like a gentleman, or do you think you don't owe a DEER the time of day, you bearded buffoon?"

Rayeln paused mid swipe, half out of shock, half out of satisfaction. He had drawn some kind of comment out of this particularly stoic aristocrat, albeit an impudent one. "My name is Rayeln the Scourge, destroyer of noblemen, slayer of blue bloods, leader of true MEN, of the WORKING MEN!"

"Oh, so I'm not even worthy of your time because I'm not a man, now, is that it? Is it!?" Exidia shoved Rayeln with his antlers. "I don't need your compaints. I DON'T NEED ANYONE'S COMPLAINTS. I'm just fine right here, thank you very much. I'm where I am and I'm happy with WHO I am."

"Why are you saying that I am saying that you are not a man? You are certainly no woman, comrade. Are you going to take up arms in your defense, or cower as I slay you and your children watch? Will you die in honor, or as a coward, aristocrat!?"

"OH YOU WANT TO FIGHT YOU'VE GOT IT BUDDY THESE HOOVES ARENT GOLD FOR NOTHI--- wait what? Aristocrat?"

"You are wearing gold that could easily be melted down for the use of peasant childrens, you aristocratic pig-dog! You shall fall to my blade! You shall taste the bitterness of death! You shall WEEP AS YOU SEE THE GATES OF HELL OPEN TO WELCOME YOU! WHEN YOU SEE THE GAPING MAW OF THE VOID, TELL IT YOU ARE SENT BY RAYELN THE SCO----"

The deer was off. He could not stand the nonsensical, revolutionary, vaguely marxist ramblings of the Cossack any further. The bearded man chased after him, laser-scimitar swinging, silly fuzzy hat flopping, and slurs erupting from his mouth.

But from afar, someone watched.

"Agent 5106. Visual confirmation, suspected terrorist in sight. Carrying a rifle. Armed, possibly dangerous. Seen with vaguely aristocratic deer. Permission to engage in pursuit? Over."

GBCE · 01-27-2012, 04:11 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by XX.

“Negative, 5106. We have a number of suspects on the move and the Eastern delegation is going in for the kill on the half-shell, double beta gamma Greg. Hold your position at 35 metres. We’ll contact you.” Click.

A deer’s ears are sensitive things.

Even over the screams of frightened tourists and the roars of the furious viking pursuing him Exida could hear the soft crackle and hiss of intercoms going off like fireworks around the edge of the courtyard. Surprisingly few of them concerned the impromptu hunt; most were bored status reports interspersed with a few more interesting whispers of “reptilian” and “knockout” and “sexual harassment”. Low-level stuff. If this was their security, then the place was either totally unused to invasions or far, far too prepared. Exida preferred to imagine it was the latter. It reminded him of home.

He sailed like a glorious deer-shaped meteor over the heads of a squall of gawking tourists, landing nimbly on the courtyard floor in a clatter of hooves. The dreary fur-covered man was having a hard time keeping up with him despite his attempts to punch his way through the crowd. Somewhere between the last few leaps the barbarian had picked up a squealing child and was currently using it as a battering ram against the slower obstacles in his way, ignoring the horrified cries of impending lawsuits around him. With a few more bounds the deer swiftly put the obelisk between the two of them, more out of irritation than fear. The man’s progress was hopelessly slow.

“If you could just-”

“DEATH TO THE ARISTOCRACY!!” Rayeln screamed, obliterating a nearby lemonade cart. With a mighty thrust he sent the child rocketing vaguely in Exida’s direction. “YOUR DAYS OF OPPRESSING THESE PEOPLE ARE OVER, TYRANT! I WILL FREE THESE WRETCHES IF IT MEANS BREAKING EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY AND SUCKING OUT THE MARROW!”

Exida narrowed his eyes and scraped a hoof against the ground. With almost effeminately careful steps he sauntered over to the obelisk’s base and cleared his throat pointedly. Against the whiteness of his fur the laurels flashed.

“Stop,” the deer said, “this idiocy at once.”

Silence hit the crowd like an atom bomb. The people nearest the monument froze with fingers still jammed accusingly in the keys of their cellphones, staring at the stag with wide, blank eyes. Rayeln frowned and slowed to a gentle bull-rush, sword pointed like a compass needle straight at Exida’s heart.

With careless grace the deer struck a magnificent pose, head held high and haloed by the noonday sun. His antlers reached poignantly towards the fluttering NeoTransAmerican flag, arching upward like the hands of the huddled eco-conscious new age masses yearning to be free of the crushing weight of their vague and uninteresting problems, outstretched toward promises of nonspecific comforts. He surveyed the scene like an emperor, visibly hating each and every person with undisguised scorn even as the more emotionally fragile among them sank to their knees and wept with patriotic rapture. All but the furthest reaches of the plaza descended into an inspired hush; even Rayeln found himself slowing to a trot and then a standstill at Exida’s hooves, dimly trying to remember what he’d just been doing.

“You worthless cretins,” the deer sneered. The words echoed around the courtyard with the weight of a presidential address. He snorted and stamped a hoof on someone’s hand, who moaned with joy. “Like a bunch of screaming rats. Where is your dignity? You,” he said, tossing his head at Rayeln. “You did this. Fix it. They’re disgusting.”

“OH GOD, MORE,” someone screamed from the crowd, but Rayeln ignored them. He swiveled slowly, letting his sword drop and scowling at the thunderstruck faces of the crowd. At the fringes of the courtyard a few people had begun to look uncomfortable, but the rest gaped like fish in the direction of the- he had to admit- rather impressive aristocrat. He glanced back at Exida, who was currently scratching his head on the edge of the obelisk and puffing sulkily at his cigarette. Interesting.

“You… command these people?”

The stag glanced down at him with a faint sneer. “You ever had a discussion with the average homo sapiens? I’m not exactly running the Tour de France here. Am I, citizens?”

“PRESIDENT DEEEEEEERR! DEER FOR PRESIDENT!”

The astrocossack leaned heavily on his sword, stroking his mighty beard with a shovel-sized hand. He found himself momentarily dumbfounded. If what this strange creature was saying was true… if the people loved him this much, and presumably had never seen the beast before today… How could it make sense? There had to be some explanation for this behavior. Unless…

The barbarian’s eyes widened in existential shock as a tidal wave of assurance hit him. This must be what a political dissident looks like.

“MY FELLOW PROLETARIATIANS,” Rayeln roared, pointing his sword skyward at the blinding sun. Most of the crowd panicked and attempted to climb on each other’s shoulders. “THIS DEER… THIS MAN WILL LEAD US TO VICTORY AGAINST THE BOURGEOISIE! WE WILL RECLAIM WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY OURS! WE WILL STAND IN THE GLORIOUS DAWN OF THE AGE THAT WE WILL FORGE FROM THE CORPSE OF THE OLD! WE WILL BASK IN THE GLORY THAT IS THE BIRTHRIGHT OF OURSELVES AND EVERYONE WHO AGREES WITH US! LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!”

“LONG LIVE THE REVMNMMMBLE,” the crowd screamed back, and lifted Rayeln above their heads as they waited in breathtaken anticipation for Exida to speak.

Delicate as a queen, the deer stepped down from the pedestal with self-righteous grace. There was a moment of tangible awed silence as he shifted the cigarette to the other side of his mouth and coughed.

“Take us,” Exida said, “to the idiot in charge of this dump.”

“Strike that earlier, 5106. We have a situation. Zeta beta Rambo tango.”

GBCE · 01-27-2012, 07:15 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Flummox.

[color=99z8rz]There was no escape. Footsteps pounded outside the only door. The only exit was the room he had come from, through the hole he had made. Looking back through the momentous cavity, he could see the door buckling from the weight of people slamming against it.

Felgurd could not escape. But he had to. He had to avenge Tolgurd. He had to find his purpose.

The only way out was through the walls again. He looked over the room. Tacked up wallpaper in a garish floral design. A wooden table, but it looked frail. No, the object best suited for his needs was the bookcase in one corner of the room.

He heaved it up onto his shoulders, or what would have been his shoulders if he had a skeletal structure. Books rained down upon his head, flattening his hat and carpeting the floor in a flood of paper and ink. One of the screws must have been loose, because one of the shelves slid out and clacked upon the floor. Silence was no longer a priority. They knew where he was already.

He produced another arm from underneath his jacket and knocked on the far wall to see if it was hollow. A dull, muffled sound just barely passed the lining; it was solid.

The left wall was more promising – a deep, clear note rang throughout the room, but it was thicker than the last one he broke. Felgurd backed up from the wall, then took a running start and shoved the bookcase through, relying on his momentum to shatter the plaster. White chips of paint and plastic flew across the room in a great cloud, obscuring his view.

When it finally cleared, he could see that he had not completely succeeded. The bookcase had gone through the first three layers of the wall, but the plaster on the other side remained. The bookcase itself lay a ruined and crumpled mess on the ground, splinters pointing every which way.

It would have to do. He reached inside of the dent and scraped at the wall. In the sudden silence, he could hear the cracking of both the door in this room and the one previous, almost giving way under the efforts of the men. It would not be long now until they broke through.

He scraped harder and more furiously, bringing his feet to bear on the wall and sprouting more limbs, diverting his entire concentration to widening the small hole that he had made.

With each scratch at the wall, more plaster fell apart and drifted down onto whatever lay on the other side. Eventually it was large enough for a few hands to fit through, and he pushed an arm through the hole, taking grasp on the other side and cracking off a large sheet of the opposite wall.

As soon as he had ducked through the hole, the two doors gave in, and splinters buried themselves deep into the remnants of the cracked wall. Gunshots reverberated behind him, echoing off the cramped space of the previous room.
But this room was much larger. No, it was humongous. A ceiling at least ten times taller than his full height. A width five times the height and a length five times the width. All of it painted a dull red, with a golden trim. Statues coated with gold, seated in magnificently large thrones, the tops of their heads almost grazing the ceiling. A red carpet flung down the middle, marvelously straight in its journey down the hallway, between the statues, and leading up to the front, where the largest statue of all sat, presiding over the entire room.

It was full of people. People, in ordinary clothes, their bodies straining against the velvet boundaries that prevented them from touching the statues. Men, in black suits so perfectly creased that their edges seemed like they could prick the finger of any who touched them; with shoes so painstakingly shined that they seemed to hold the face of the sun itself, laced onto their toes and heels; wearing black headsets, a startling contrast to their pale faces; men, policing the tourists who filled the hall so completely.

Surprisingly, the sound of him breaking the wall had been masked by the buzz of the crowd. As far as he could tell, no one even noticed. Odd.

Felgurd could hear voices behind him of the men who were following him. Voices shouting to each other. Voices shouting into their headsets. Voices shouting for his condemnation. They will not capture him. Not today.

“I repeat! It’s gotten into the President’s Hall! It’s dangerous, we need it captured and apprehended immediately! Code Yellow! Code Yellow!”

But Felgurd knew he was safe, for the moment at least. They wouldn’t dare use their guns in such a crowded area. Nor when they stood any chance of hitting these massive effigies of their leaders. They looked valuable, and he knew how humans responded to money.

He ducked behind the nearest figure. If he passed through them quickly enough, they stood less of a chance of catching him. He could have gone into the crowd, but he would not be able to blend in well enough, not in this light.

In the short span of time that he was passing from behind one statue to the next, he performed a quick visual scan of the room. The uniformed and official-looking men had noticed him, apparently, because they were running towards his general position with their pistols drawn. The crowd had also taken notice, because there was general havoc amongst them. People ran, tripped, fought. Knives were pulled. A gunshot rang out from the mob. People were screaming now, running, grasping each other in the race to escape the building. A trampled, bloody body was left behind, the remains of a teenage boy. His heart was still pumping, its efforts futile. He took what was to be his last gasp of breath as his body heaved and convulsed, his straying arm landing on the body of an aged lady who lay there, crushed under the weight of the multitude.

But Felgurd felt no sympathy. All humans died eventually anyway. He ducked and weaved between the sculptures, hoping that the men would not ever catch him in a clear line of sight. But there were a finite amount of statues, and he was nearing the end of the room. Eventually he reached the last statue in the row. It was impossible to tell how far behind the men were.

He crouched down behind it and prepared for his pursuers to catch up with him. By now they would have been joined by the men following him from the two previous rooms. He started to pull the hands from his left arm and join them onto his right arm, slowly so as not to alert his hunters to his hiding place. Soon enough he had no left arm and his right arm was roughly twice the length it was before. He began to pull hands from other parts of his body too, becoming shorter and smaller while his arm grew longer and thicker.

He waited. Waited for the right moment…

The footsteps registered in his mind, a dim flicker of recognition in his eye as they came closer, closer…

He stepped out from behind the statue and, flinging his arm out wide, whipped it back around to close around the man’s throat. Felgurd dodged at just the right moment, the bullet from the surprised man’s gun tearing a clean hole in his suit tail.

The man began to choke and dropped his pistol. Hunter became hunted. The sheer force from Felgurd’s grip began to bruise the man’s neck as his blood vessels popped one by one. The bruises spread up his jaw and down his collar as slowly, gradually, his jugular was crushed inwards, almost collapsing on itself. Felgurd, sensing another man gaining on his position, quickly pulled back his right arm, snapping his victim’s neck. He gathered his hands from his elongated arm back into the rest of his body as he fled.

He was on the run again.
[/color]

GBCE · 01-31-2012, 09:13 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by The Deleter.

Johnny Raptor was lost.

Johnny Raptor NEVER got lost.

Yet here he was, wandering amidst a maze of concrete halls, offices and break rooms, wondering where exactly it was the narration claimed him to be. This was very embarrassing. He hadn’t clawed his way out of Reptile Hell, Florida, just to get lost in some bunker somewhere! How were his keen senses failing him? He’d have found something important by now, or fought an inexplicable wild animal, or SOMETHING. Not files and desks and cupboards! He couldn’t fight in the office environment! Staples got everywhere!

“Any ideas?” He said to Zeus, who was still draped over one shoulder like a sack of wet concrete.

“Kill me,” suggested the leopard, in leopard-speak.

Johnny Raptor didn’t respond, because he didn’t speak cat languages. Instead, he opened another nearby door and peered into the office. Nope. Just Yet Another Office™, with another desk and another swivel chair and another half-eaten apple.

It began to occur to him that all the offices looked alike. Unreasonably so. Same desk, same chair, same layout. Even (and call him paranoid, but…) the same Granny Smith.

Maybe they had finally invented brainwashing. Or they had mindless drones. Or they had simply built too many offices. This was built by “government,” wasn’t it? They’d do something stupid like that. Johnny didn’t trust governments. They got in his way and told him he’d crossed the line or was a loose canon. Or was that cops? No, he’d never worked on a police force in his -

His thoughts were interrupted by an avalanche of footsteps, headed in his direction. Bootsteps. Security? Oh, wait, alarms were blaring. How did he miss those?

It was said that Johnny Raptor had disproved the Fight or Flight Theory, because he never ran away. This was a lie. Sometimes, even the bravest of men had to hide. He ducked into the office, dropping Zeus on the floor and shutting the door behind him. For good measure, he dived into the nearby cupboard.

As if on cue, a rush of black-armoured figures thundered by. They were screaming something about a “Code Yellow” and “the President’s Hall.” A second later, they were gone, leaving nothing but the blare of alarms in their wake. Zeus, uninterested in all of this, sniffed at the apple.

Johnny tumbled out of the cupboard. For some reason, he was dressed in a winter coat and scarf now.

"Narnia is bullshit," he declared to no-one in particular, brushing snow off of his shoulders. Then he stopped, and took a great big sniff of the air.

Hmm. Action, drama. A smell of adventure in the air. Obviously, someone important was in trouble somewhere. And where there was trouble…

“Come on, Zeus,” Johnny roared, busting the door of the office down in dramatic fashion for no real reason. “Let’s save some innocents!”

Zeus did not want to save innocents. Zeus wanted to go home, and said as much in feline body language and growls. However, since Johnny picked him up and ran after the guards anyway, there wasn’t much point.

-*-

“- told you should have taken the last goddamn right, you stupid HOLY SHIT FOLLOW HIM.”

Artemis paused in his internal conversation with Grendel to stare wildy around.

“Who? I don’t – “

“THERE RIGHT THERE DAMN IT”

The street urchin felt Grendel turn his head for him, and saw the big man in the steston hat – Johnny, was it? – dash down a hallway, a… um…

“I- Is that a leopard?” he stammered.

“Who gives a shit? Follow that man!”

“Why?”

“Have you SEEN his mind? It looks like a train wreck happening in super-slow motion! You have to follow him! I gotta see what this dipshit does! It’ll be like, like, like the Original Sin and Abel and Job all rolled into one! Follow him!”

Artemis wondered, briefly, if his demonic hanger-on had gone mad. Then he realised that the alternative was to wander around the endless offices and listen to Grendel freak out over how every office was identical, right down to the little scuff in the carpet near the wastepaper basket.

Sighing, he set off after Johnny. Surely whatever happened next wouldn’t be TOO bad, right?

GBCE · 01-31-2012, 10:43 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by SteelKomodo.

There was a reserve here. It has gone now.

GBCE · 02-07-2012, 05:01 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by SteelKomodo.

“Faster, you scrawny bastard! Keep up with him!”

This was becoming more and more difficult for Artemis to do. Even while hoisting a live leopard over his shoulder, Johnny was surprisingly fast - faster than any ordinary human could achieve, if the urchin was any judge. Every turn was gradually turning into a guessing game as the brief glimpses of chisled shoulders and sulking feline became more and more fleeting as the distance between boy and man grew. Whoever this Johnny Raptor was, he could probably have won any parkour race back in Portsheath city and still have energy for a few laps of the main traffic island.

Mind you, Artemis hadn't been in much of a chasing condition to begin with. Having already run down several sets of near-identical linear corridors while Grendel shrieked about how all the rooms looked the same meant that the boy's legs were beginning to protest quite painfully at the inhumane treatment they were now forced to undergo. Which would have been fine otherwise, except that the demon kept on shouting at him to go faster and faster still, like a man in the passenger seat egging the driver on, and that's enough to distract anyone from keeping up with a mystery man in an awesome hat.

I wonder where I can get a hat like that, Artemis wondered.

“Never mind the fucking hat!” screamed Grendel. "You're losing him!"

"I can't help it!" retored Artemis in thoughtspeak. "He's too fast!”

“This, coming from a kid who vaults over fences and shit?!”

“That’s nowhere near like chasing some guy down identical corridors!”

“Oh, for the love of... Here, let me do the running.”

And suddenly, Artemis couldn't feel his legs anymore. Mostly because they were now doing their own thing, which consisted of trying to be in two different places at once at the same time. The net effect of this was akin to a man riding a bike down a slope, too terrified to hit the brakes as the wheels take him on a journey of their own devising. Once again, Grendel was showing that he was not above taking over the wheel when it came to important matters.

His legs a blur, the boy veered down the laybrinth of corridors and sharp turns as if he were on a motorcyle. As he ran, he could see from the corners of his eyes the confusion and chaos that this man had left in his wake. Female secretaries lay in a daze on the floor, accompanied by piles of what could only call itself paperwork because it was in a tidy stack several lifetimes ago. Huge holes could be seen in the brickwork where Johnny had lost patience with a door, and glimpses through those holes showed that whatever had been happening in those rooms would not be forgotten for a while. The cost in redecorating would be astronomical.

“His mind..." Grendel was still babbling, as if enraptured by the most awesome T.V. programme in the history of Earth. "His fucking mind, it's like a bowling ball on clingfilm."

“Not sure what that's meant to mean," replied Artemis as he veered round another t-junction to avoid slipping on some spilled coffee, leaving a beffuddled waitress behind.

“As in, reality warps to his mere presence.”

This still made no sense to Artemis. "What? How is that-?!”

“WATCH THE FUCK OUT!"

Sadly, Artemis did not watch the fuck out. Hitting Johnny Raptor at full tilt was like trying to demolish a skyscraper by headbutting it - all you ended up with was a headache. The boy practically somersaulted backwards before landing with a thump onto his back, dazed and winded.

Johnny Raptor calmly finished tying his bootlaces, picked up Zeus the leopard in one arm as he stood up, and then looked down at the teen boy spread on the floor behind him. For a minute, he wondered if he'd seen the kid before, but at the time he'd been too occupied with trying to eat a live tiger to pay much attention.

"Hullo," he said, casually, as if this sort of thing happened to him all the time. "Where did you spring from?"

Artemis would have replied to the question immediately were it not for two things. Firstly, his head was ringing, and it is usually not a good idea to talk when you have just smacked head-first into a man who seems to be made of concrete. The second was the sight of the leopard looking down at him from over Johnny's shoulder. The animal was clearly not in the right frame of mind for whatever was happening, or at least about to happen, and the almost pitying look it gave the urchin said as much. Run away, it seemed to say. Get out of here while you’re still a same man, and don’t even think about looking back.

“...dumb kid, doesn't watch where he's bloody going...” Grendel muttered to himself, clearly not wanting to bail his host out of the awkward situation. He needn’t have bothered, though – Johnny insisted on reaching down and hauling Artemis to his feet in the manner of a tractor pulling a car out of mud. If shoulder muscles could scream, Artemis’ would have done then.

“Haven’t I seen you somewhere?” asked Johnny as he watched the boy nurse his aching shoulder. Zeus growled impatiently from behind the man’s head.

“Maybe,” Artemis offered. “There was a lot of food on a table, from what I can remember.”

“Small world, huh? By the way,” and here the man grabbed Artemis’ hand and pumped it with enough force to wrench it out of it’s socket (which, thankfully, didn’t happen), “I’m Johnny Raptor. Secret Service.”

“Artemis,” came the meek reply.

“Odd name for a-”

A sudden explosion rocked the building, and a cloud of dust billowed out of somewhere, because that’s what happens when explosions happen suddenly. As Artemis staggered, trying to keep his balance, Johnny whipped round just in time to see a cabal of green-clad men vanish down the hallway he'd meant to go down before having to stop and tie his bootlaces.

"VIPER!" he roared, his face twisting into a snarl. "I should have KNOWN you'd have been behind this! C'mon, kid, we have a dastardly plot to foil!"

Before Artemis could protest, Johnny had picked him and hoisted him underneath his free arm, dangling like a sack of potatoes. The next second, an epic bellow of “JOHNNYYYYYY RAPTOOOOOOOOORRRRRR!!” cut through the as the man leapt down the hallway after his foes. It was like being on an express train with the sports commentary on full blast next to your ear.

Artemis glanced over at the leopard, who made the feline equivalent of a disinterested shrug.

““This," hissed Grendel with the glee of a small child in Disneyland for the first time, "is going to be FUCKING AWESOME.”

"Did you say something, kid?" asked Johnny as he ran.

“Wasn't me," replied Artemis meekly. Mentally, however, he was kicking Grendel for forgetting that one thing about lower-class demons – as in, the thing about other people being able to hear them if their host touched someone else. Having a beefy arm wrapped around your midsection was, in that regard, like opening up a cave for someone to shout down.

But it was too late to explain that to Johnny, as he was already careering headlong down a hallway which, thankfully, didn’t look the same as all the others had done. It was much bigger, for one, and the concrete was a different shade of grey. It also had a series of gigantic windows in one side that gave the impression of a perfect summer day, if they weren’t overlooking a sheer drop followed by a snow-capped mountain range. In the agent’s experience, it was just begging for some kind of action sequence to happen, one with lots of bullets and strafing.

So Johnny wasn’t too surprised when a Viper gunship hove into view.

Artemis and Grendel were, though.

“SHIIIIIIIIIT!”

GBCE · 02-17-2012, 02:59 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Protoman.

Show Content

"Now for H.R. 5106, the honorable senator from Georgia will take the floor."

A rather pudgy man takes the stand.

"Friends, colleagues, fellow Americans, fellow senators, far too long has the threat of communist deer threatened our nation."

An echo rings out from the hall, faintly. a few heads turn at the sound, which seems to have the quality of some form of... disco beat.

"The fact of the matter is, the reds are taking over our forests, and we cannot let this continue! The future of democracy rests in the hands of our woodland creatures!"

The music gets louder.

"Here's to you brother hey brother hooooooo! HEY. HEY. HEY. HEY."

Just about everyone turns. The Georgian stutters a bit at being interrupted, but continues on with his speech.

"If the deer fall, so will the birds. Hell, soon enough we'll have commie red mountain lions! This legislation will stop the infiltration of communist deer into our na----"

The doors burst open. The chamber fills with a crowd of angry mind controlled civilians, headed by Rayeln and the deer. Over the chaos, Rayeln can be heard screaming and attempting to behead five "aristocratic pig dog senatorial capitalist democratic fascist whores" at once. A senator struggles to get out of the noose he has made from his blood-red beard. He rides atop a great Russian bear that he found somewhere, mauling any senatorial pig whore who might get in his way.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS EVEN"

"MOSCOW, MOSCOW,
DRINKING VODKA ALL NIGHT LONG,
KEEPS YOU HAPPY MAKES YOU STRONG. HOHOHOHOHO, HEY!
MOSCOW, MOSCOW!
COME AND HAVE A DRINK AGAIN,
YOU WILL NEVER LEAVE AGAIN, HAHAHAHAHA! HEY!"

Exida stands back and watches the disco inferno erupt, along with the one servant who had been forced to carry the boombox. Adorned with sunglasses he stole from a particularly cool mindslave and nodding his head to the beat of the disco song, the deer takes a drag on his cigarette, occasionally goring anyone who gets too close. so smooth.

GBCE · 03-05-2012, 06:48 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Yako.

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.

He had been lucky that time, even he realized that. Very few complex organisms could be taken out from a few blows to the head. That particular human seemed out of sorts already. But if anyone else was here...

Zenith reached a fork in the passageways, stopped, listened. There wasn't the sound of anyone coming from either side. Best go right, then, always turn right.

This was sticky. Zenith understood the language of these people well enough-- it had been taught to him as one as a sort of romantic language, the language of a people who never traveled into space, only ever sending broadcasts and weird object out in hopes someone would find them. They were a very popular space culture among the Vella Kehn, almost a sister-culture with whom they could never communicate: the lonely travelers and the lonely broadcasters.

The words she was saying were definitely not friendly. Weapons? Always bad. And this place, Zenith thought as he made another right, with its sterile halls and ominous machines-- this place was not friendly. If they caught him, there was no telling what kind of probing he'd be subject to-- that's what aliens who didn't understand First Contact did, right?

Oh right, and there was that... interdimensional battle to the death thing, too. Today was shaping up to be a very bad day.

How many more rights would there be before he found an exit? Hoped he hadn't missed any...

---

Altara moved through the Presidentialgon with ease and grace, ignoring the din of all the chaos currently happening through its halls. Few people paid her any mind, if they glanced at her at all. Perfect.

Her newfound memory led her down the emptiest halls to the depths of the facility. Even with the changes to her stolen body, the DNA-based security system proved no difficulty to pass. Let's see what kind of power they hide here.

She had no memories of this place, these cold, smooth white halls, but that did nothing to worry her or slow her progress-- she moved through the harsh complex with absolute determination.

She stopped only when she came face to face with a very flustered little gray man.

Zenith was far too tired to try the "hit them in the head until they fall" strategy again. Instead, he stood staring blankly at the young woman.

She looked back at him-- not frightened or disgusted, just merely curious.

Curious was good. Curiosity usually meant that they'd leave you alive, at least. Why did she look so familiar? He was sure he hadn't seen her before, but she was irritatingly and uncannily similar to a human he had just seen...

Zenith moved almost without thinking, straightening his posture and raising one hand in pledge. She hadn't drawn any weapon yet, wasn't dressed like the person he had seen earlier. His instincts had told him that this was to be his best chance at first contact.

"I come in peace.
"...In unfortunate circumstances."

Very unfortunate.

GBCE · 03-22-2012, 06:20 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Flummox.

[color=#99z8rz] As the crushed and battered remains of the tourist crowd escaped the building, Felgurd reached the end of the massive row of figures, catching a fleeting glimpse of his pursuers. They did not seem to tire, as he knew humans should, instead chasing after him with the same amount of gusto as when they started. He decided it was probably best to try and outrun them at this point; losing them seemed impossible.

Just as he was nearing the pair of double doors, they slammed shut – some sort of automatic closing mechanism, activated to end his escape. They were the nearest exit, but they were overly large, made of some sort of metal that looked very durable, and by the looks of it, locked with an elaborate gear system. Trying to break them open would be pointless. He sprinted across the carpet and ducked down the next row of figures, doubling back towards the other end of the hall.

As he ran, he moved hands out of his arms and to his legs, making them longer while his arms became shorter. The unfortunate side effect of this was that it was impossible to balance without bobbing his body back and forth, to the point where it looked like he was imitating some sort of flightless bird.

But it paid off, and soon he was outdistancing his assailants. No one can run forever, though, and Felgurd knew this too. So as he weaved through the line of statues, occasionally shoving aside the few tourists left in the room, he began to look for exits.

The double doors seemed to be the only man-made way out of there. He could make another hole, but that would take far too much time. They would catch up to him by the time he would be able to get through.

But as he stepped behind the last, largest statue in the row, his eye scanned the far wall of the room, and he spotted something – the hole he had come in through. Perhaps… it would have to be quick. He knew the men would fire at will as soon as he left behind these expensive looking decorations. It was his only way out; he would have to take it.

They must have known he was going for it, because a few of the men began to detach from the main group and head towards the hole. He had to be quick. Timing was essential. He started to bring his hands back into his sleeves and form coherent arms. But slowly, because he still needed the speed boost from the extended legs.

Closer…closer…

He hooked one of his legs inside the hole and swung himself inside. The top of his hat clipped the ragged edge of the hole and fell off. He swung one of his arms around to retrieve it, but jerked back when he heard the distinctive pop of a pistol with a silencer. Feeling a sharp sting in the hand at the tip of his arm, he looked down to see blood oozing slowly out a bullet hole. Since there was no heart to force the blood out, it came slowly. But the tendon in one of the fingers was severed, the muscles injured; the hand would never function the same again. The dripping blood would also leave tracks, which was especially important to avoid. Felgurd left his hat as well as the injured hand and burst out of the splintered doorway at the other end of the room.

The hallway was familiar – not because he had been there before, though there was that too, but because it looked like all human hallways, at least in any office building. As he continued through the hallway, he slipped in the occasional glance into the passing room, and noticed that they too seemed quite familiar, the type of room that one typically finds in human office buildings. Indeed they were all familiar, in exactly the same type of way, too – something was very wrong here.

But there was no time to ponder the similarity of rooms. He could hear more popping sounds behind him, and bullets were denting the walls around him. He veered down the next left, if not losing his pursuers then at least getting out of their line of sight for a bit.

He found himself lapsing into quite a rhythm: right, left, left, right, left, right right left

Then he came across a wide, gaping hole in the nearest wall. It was useless to enter through – it only led to a room, which had no other exits – but it might provide a distraction to his pursuers. They might be led to believe he went through it, or if not, at least they might stop to wonder at the destruction.

He continued sprinting down the hallway, wherein he encountered an unconscious woman with sheaves of paper strewn about her body. He bent down to rip the hands from her wrists and add them to his collection, but a bullet striking sparks off the nearby wall tore him from the distraction, and he started off down the hallway again.

The woman might well have been his downfall, for the men chasing him were not far behind and the hallway continued straight for quite a ways.

A bullet grazed one of the hands on the back of his neck, slicing off the tip of one of its fingers quite neatly. The hand was still functional, but it was slowly dripping a quite visible trail of red. He swapped it with another hand from deep inside his torso so that the blood would drip not onto the floor but on the hands underneath it.

Fortunately, there was another one of those ragged holes off to his left, and he ducked inside to avoid further injury. This room had another hole in the far wall, which provided a continued escape route.

This hole led to another hallway; he could go left, right, or forward, through the hole in the wall ahead. Indeed, there seemed to be a veritable path of destruction – whoever or whatever was making these holes was probably very strong and very angry. Anything so wantonly destroying this building wouldn’t be allied with his pursuers. If he followed the trail, then he’d come upon whatever was leaving it – and perhaps it would destroy those men. It wasn’t a flawless plan, but it’s the best he had. Felgurd could only hope that whatever it was, it wouldn’t destroy him too.

So he followed the path, crawling through some smaller holes and jumping through other, larger ones. He passed through multiple offices, each one identical except in their state of disarray. Some were completely destroyed, others disorganized, and yet others utterly untouched.

At last he burst out into a hallway where the trail of holes ended. There was simply not another hole. Ahead, there was a row of wall-sized windows, from which a mountain range could be seen. He considered opening or breaking the window and climbing out, but that was probably not the best idea taking into account that it looked out onto an almost vertical cliff side.

At this point it would be best to stick to the original plan. He picked a direction, left, and started to run. The men must have caught up with him again, for he heard bullets ricocheting off the walls. He reverted back to his long-legged form, the air resistance pushing his empty sleeves back in a flowing stream of cloth.

He tore past a man in a hat with a boy under his arm and some sort of beast over his shoulder. Could they have been the cause of the trail? No. No human can tear holes in walls of that size. It can’t be. But they still could provide some use. Humans would not fire upon their own kind, would they?

He slowed to a trot, turned around, and was about to speak, when Johnny Raptor’s fist collided with his mask.
[/color]
*****

“Hmph.” Johnny Raptor grabbed Felgurd by his lapels and hoisted him up. “Tell me, thing, do you work for the Viper?”

“Gghhng.” Came Felgurd’s response. Having spent weeks without talking to anyone, his voice was raw. Being hit in the face did not help.

Johnny slapped him again. But his interrogation session was interrupted by the sound of boots thundering down the hallway. He spun around to find eight men standing there. The one on the far left and the one on the far right grinned and tore off their faces to reveal hideous reptilian smiles. Their pants split to accommodate their long, thrashing tails.

“VIPER!” Shouted Johnny, as they advanced on him slowly. “Back me up, kid.”

He dropped Felgurd to focus on the two Viper agents.

Some sort of blade was taking shape in Artemis’ hand as Grendel slid into a material form.

“This will be exciting!”

“I sure hope not.”

But it turned out that Johnny did not need backup – throwing Zeus at the one on the right, he spun around to catch the hand of the one on the left, swiftly punching him in the midsection. He grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him through one of the windows. His screams could be heard as he fell to his death. The leopard simply sat on the other one.

As this was going on, five of other men from the group reached inside their jackets and pulled out slim daggers, shiny with some sort of liquid coating. Most likely poison. They branched out in a circle, surrounding Johnny, the skin on their faces peeling off to expose crocodilian heads. Long claws split the skin on the tips of their fingers.

“Assassins! I should have known they’d come with reinforcements.”

[color=#99z8rz]Felgurd began to come to his senses, wakening to a frantic fight scene. The boy with the sword and the man in the hat were in the center of a circle of reptilian warriors. They were lashing out at anything that came close, but not making any headway. Say… didn’t that man look familiar? And the boy, too… yes, that’s right. The mysterious man in the suit, Don… something or other. That wasn’t important. Didn’t he mention something about… moving on once someone had died? Yes, change. It was hard to imagine that anyplace could be worse than that one, but it would be different. And different was bad. Different meant new people, new rules, new things to get accustomed too. No, he could not allow them to die, for then they would move on, whatever that meant.

He stood up and gripped the nearest assassin in an iron clutch, tossing him out the already broken window.It seemed that the other Viper agents were distracted by the loss of their fellow, because Johnny was able to clobber one over the head into unconsciousness.[/color]

He then spun around and kicked another in the side of the head, sending it sprawling to the floor. The boy also took advantage of the gap, slashing one across the face. This seemed to have little effect, until Johnny Raptor came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his neck in a chokehold. Felgurd seized the remaining one by the arm and bent his arm in a rather odd direction, creating a sickening crack. Johnny let go of the remaining one, who lay on the floor, gasping for air.

The remaining man had stood by, watching the fight, but now he turned to Johnny. His smile grew and grew until it became maniacal. Then it grew more, and his skin could be heard tearing as his face was split in two. Thousands upon thousands of small snakes spilt from where his neck used to be. A larger snake wormed its way up through the multitude.

“Johnny Raptor.” It hissed. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

“Crotalis. I’ve been waiting for you too.”

“Shall we dance?”

At this, the snake shed its human clothes, and the full monstrosity was revealed. Millions of snakes squirmed away from Crotalis, their exodus slowly exposing its body. It was about three feet thick and immensely long, covered in sharp scales and with a cruel glint in its eyes. It bared its fangs and hissed, lunging at Johnny, who caught it by the neck.

“Whoa there. Not too fast.” He gave it a powerful uppercut, sending it flying against one of the windows. The glass shattered and sliced gouges into Crotalis’ hide, snakes squirming out of the wound instead of blood. Crotalis wrapped himself around the window support.

“You won’t find me so easily disposed of, Raptor.”

This time, it was more cautious, dancing at the edges of Johnny’s range. Small snakes fell out of its wounds, writhing. Some would thrash their bodies and advance towards Johnny, only to have their heads stamped in.

“You gotta help him out!” Grendel said, noticing the standoff their fight had gotten too. “Look. If he dies, I’ll never have a chance to observe him, to research him. Don’t you see? This could be my big break!”

“Fight that thing? You must be crazy.”

“Distract it or something then. Just do something!”

“Um. Alright.” Artemis danced up to the snake, doing some sort of jig while holding his satanic sword in a threatening position and making silly noises. Crotalis seemed unfazed, still weaving his body in and out of Johnny’s reach, until Artemis began to take swipes at it. Then it reared up and flared its hood, a terrifying jumble of red and yellow, abstract shapes forming themselves into something resembling a distorted human face. Artemis stumbled back, scrambling to get away from it.

“Stop it, boy. I will tear you into so many pieces that your remains will look like dust and I will inject so much venom into you that your parents will feel it.”

This distraction did give Johnny an edge, however, and he tackled Crotalis from the side. He kept a firm grip on the snake’s throat as he carried it to the windows and proceeded to tie it in knots around the support of the broken window.

“Snakes shouldn’t fight raptors. I’m your natural predator.”

He walked over to Felgurd and held out his hand.

“Johnny Raptor, Secret Service.”

“Fff..Felgurddh.” He didn't take Johnny’s hand.

GBCE · 03-23-2012, 05:21 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Digital Hellhound.

[background=#A97C2E][color=#000000]'Perch

GBCE · 03-24-2012, 06:28 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by XX.

The pounding beats of Russian disco were the backdrop to a scene of flawless chaos. The squalling horde of subsentients the barbarian was conducting with swings of his sword howled in time to the music as the clustered senators milled in frantic confusion, squawking to each other and into oversized intercoms about the intrusion and how whatever they were getting paid wasn’t nearly enough for having to deal with this kind of thing. Several had resorted to huddling underneath their podiums and stuffing their fingers firmly into their ears, complaining loudly to anyone within hearing distance about their rights and privileges and how cold their coffee was this morning and really this was just the absolute last straw for them and they were quitting right this instant without putting in their two weeks. Exida sympathized with them. Cold coffee was a terrible thing.

As he ascended the shallow stage up to the speaker’s podium the deer cast a scornful gaze over the mob spreading through the amphitheater. Their reaction to the Laurels was entirely in excess of anything the results of his experiments in mass crowd control had indicated, paralleling only the more ambitious attempts to direct subjects under the influence of psychoactive drugs. Perhaps it was the barbarian, he mused. A focus of such intensity might certainly have some sway over the proceedings. When he returned to the Seven’s headquarters and dealt with their mutinous charges he would research this factor further, he decided as he nosed the microphone down to within range of his muzzle. When he cleared his throat for attention it came out as a deafening squeal of static that startled even the most determined of the mob from trying to claw their way up the antiquated curtains. The music died with a soft click.

Exida let the resulting silence stretch out for a few moments, letting the Laurels’ calming presence insinuate itself through the Senatorial arena. From the far reaches of the tiered seating he saw the shadows of suspicious faces peeking out from behind the mahogany, defensively clutching pens in poses that suggested soldiers clinging to bayonets. He narrowed his eyes as he saw the Laurels begin to do their work: the senators’ expressions gradually faded into wonder and they helplessly settled into their seats, marveling at the scene unfolding on the hearing floor. The white stag stood alone before the microphone atop the mosaicked image of a gigantic eagle, wings outstretched over a helpless-looking Earth and a nuclear warhead clasped in each talon. Where the floor touched his hooves the tiles seemed to gain new life, glittering under the stately halogens. Exida smirked. In the glow of the Laurels it was transformed into a benevolent smile, welcoming and reasonable.

“Respected members of the Senate,” he said, the sneer in his voice mellowing into a gentle note of subdued goodwill, “I rise before you today as the chief delegate of the United Fields & Woodlands Coalition. A concerned citizen like any other. A father, a husband, but primarily an ordinary man whose concerns about the state of this nation will no longer allow him to remain silent on these issues. I fear today that I must come to you bearing evidence of a sinister new threat spreading as we speak throughout our great and virtuous nation.” He surveyed the crowd with an air of absolute assurance, daring anyone present to challenge him. Whatever hints of disquiet he saw in the eyes of the Senators extinguished as soon as they met his gaze. Loftily Exida raised a hoof into the air, glinting gold.

“I am referring, of course, to the perpetually-growing issue of Forest Communism,” he said quietly, then slammed his hoof down on the eagle’s head with a bang that made most of the senators flinch and set up another round of howling amongst his followers. “How long?” he cried above the gibbering screams of the crowd, “How long must we suffer in silence before the men that lead this nation grant us so much as a passing mention? How many of our children must we see succumb to lies of the reds before you take notice of our plight?”

“We- we had just begun to discuss alternatives-“ One senator mumbled before being silenced by a subtle roar from Rayeln, who buried his laser sword up to the hilt of the man’s desk in case his message had previously been unclear. The man peered around the quivering blade at Exida, whose expression was one of mild indifference. “Er, continue. Please. Mister, ah… ?”

“Exida,” the deer said offhandedly, nodding to Rayeln. “Exida Exis, fourth of the name. Are you a father, Senator?”

“What- yes?”

“Then tell me,” Exida said as Rayeln tore the sword from the desk with the sound of a beam spanner committing murder, “Do you welcome the thought of a world in which your children could be press-ganged at any moment by flocks of Communist crows or Socialist sparrows, their tender ears filled with the Reds’ lies day and night and day again until they can no longer free themselves from the webs of propaganda from which you failed to protect them? Does it appeal to you to know that even now, even as we speak, hundreds if not thousands, thousands, gentlemen, of fawns and cubs are suffering this exact same fate?” The room had gone silent except for the occasional bellow of enthusiasm from the deer’s entourage. The congressmen eyed each other nervously from across their desks, feeling vaguely racist that none of them had realized crows had political ideologies.

“Your concern, little as it is, very nearly comes too late. I have seen firsthand the effects of this scourge spreading across our nation’s forests, warping our fauna into a dystopian exemplar of what will surely spread to our populace if this trend is not curbed. A disease, allowed to grow unchecked and claim life after innocent life despite the cries of protest that all too often are muffled prematurely. I have seen the shells of men and animals the indoctrinations of the Reds leave behind. I have heard their broken voices like those of childrens’ dolls, repeating what they have been taught ad infinitum, unable to function without the lies they have been molded to. My own fawns…” Exida’s voice faltered and the stag bowed his head. A soft moan of sympathy rose from crowd along with a few sad cries of President Deeeeer. Someone leaped out of the nearest window for emphasis.

“You have our deepest, deepest sympathies, Mr. Exida,” the Senator who had spoken said respectfully. The woman next to him sniffled slightly, at odds with her iron-grey suit and stiffly lined face. He glanced at her before continuing. “We realize the importance of your cause, to be sure, it’s just that- er- it has not been exactly- brought to this council before- of course we will do everything we can to- to uh-”

“Military assistance,” Exida said.

“Er.”

“Do you think freedom comes from words, gentlemen?” Exida did not raise his head. The magnificent spread of his antlers was all that could be seen of his face. “Do you think we will save our children and the imperiled future of this nation by discussion? How long must we extend this charade? Will we try to persuade the Reds to leave us in peace when they come knocking at our doors, never having once been challenged? Their forces grow in strength every second we spend deliberating. Every word we waste that is not a command to strike them down is an open invitation to take advantage of our weaknesses! We must act now!”

The senator blinked, and for the most fleeting moment he wondered if this was all really necessary before the stag slowly looked up and he saw the tears glittering in its liquid eyes. The animal’s shoulders were slumped with the weight of a martyr’s burden, its posture that of a man who knows he is defeated but who can no longer afford to turn back, and as they watched it seemed to those gathered that his fur dulled slightly and the collars around his neck seemed to grow heavier and darker, as though it was all their bearer could do to hold them up. Deep in their hearts the gathered congressmen felt a sharp pang of poignancy- here was a deer who had lost everything to a threat that now seemed about to swallow the world, whose children had been torn away from him, whose very presence in this hall was a beacon for the plight of the oppression of man. In the front row a senator rose to his feet and began pounding his hands together in furious applause; one by one the others followed until the Senatorial Hall filled with the cheers of righteous fervor and the promise of death to all that would oppose the war against the fascist threat.

In the midst of the turmoil Raylen mauled his way through the stands to Exida’s side. “Are you well, comrade Exis?” he roared anxiously. His sword carved burning arcs in the air. “Shall I remove the heads of some of these whore-dogs as an example?”

Exida only smirked, watching the chaos in the stands with look of vague detachment. His cigarette rolled gently between his teeth. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Rayeln. I quite think we’re about ready to move forward.”

--------------------

The office they gave Exida and Rayeln the Scourge was ornately furnished, if somewhat sadly out of use and a decade or two behind the latest interior decorating styles. The deer eyed the carpet disapprovingly as he paced behind the antique desk, noting the years of dust that had failed to be removed from it during the absence of the Anti-Corruption Affairs nonsense that had apparently occupied the room prior to its abandonment. Most of his followers had been politely asked to remain in the hallways where they were currently attempting a demonstration about nothing in particular; a few of the marginally calmer ones had been allowed to stay and were quietly fighting over the boombox.

Rayeln stood behind Exida, glowering at a technician hastily adjusting the wires on a sleek silver broadcast microphone, the only object on the otherwise spotless desk. The man’s gaze bounced nervously between the Scourge’s glare and the device, flinching whenever the giant man snorted with fury. “Almost done here, Mr. Exida, Mr…. Scourge. Yep, almost…”

“Faster, wretch!” Rayeln roared, brandishing his sword at generally everything. “Our enemies must learn to fear us! They must know the voices that will order their heads struck off and mounted on the highest tower in the land for all to see!”

The technician paled considerably but managed to close the microphone’s panels with a definite-sounding snap. “Th-that’s it. Should be all set now.”

“And this will reach the entire complex?” Exida said, standing with his back to the room and gazing out onto the concrete lawns. A cloud of smoke had settled around his hooves.

“All the way to the outer security border. Sir.”

“Every room, every hallway, every janitor’s closet? Everyone will hear this? It’s a matter of national security.”

“Of course, sir,” the technician said. His freckled face was wrought with distress. “We could do a brief sound test if you’re concerned.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the deer said, turning to face the desk. “Escort Rayeln to the war room, I will join you shortly. We don’t have much time if we wish to stop the Forest Communist invasion. For god’s sake, does no one in this building own an ashtray?”

As the technician scuttled off with the seething bulk of Rayeln in tow mumbling about health codes and nicotine bans the deer sighed heavily and wished he still had hands to rub his temples with. This was all such nonsense, he thought. So disgustingly cliché. Far too much like the old days when he’d still have been excited about the prospect of duping a major government center. Perhaps when everyone else was dead he’d make a rule about letting situations get to this level of idiocy before someone stepped in and demanded some order. Make a law about it, even. Exida’s Bill of Bullshit.

With far more delicacy than any deer has a right to possess he tapped a small button on the microphone’s base with the tip of a gilded hoof. A soft red light flickered into existence and a hiss of feedback issued from the speakers as he leaned into the mouthpiece, listening for the telltale echoes from the hallway. The few remaining members of the mob turned their heads towards him, suddenly and perfectly quiet.

“Citizens of the Presidentialgon,” Exida said. His sensitive ears picked up the transmission traveling throughout the building and the sudden silence of its impact, as clear as cannonfire. “This is Exida Exis, newly appointed Homeland Forest Defense Administrator. It is one of both my proudest moments and my deepest sorrows to be the one to bring you the following terrible news: several individuals have been spotted throughout the immediate vicinity who we suspect to be members of a subversive Communist espionage cell dedicated to striking at our nation’s heart in its most vulnerable hour. They vary in appearance; we know of at least one who appears to resemble a child. The others may be wearing even stranger disguises. If you see anyone, anyone, who appears out of place, detain them immediately and be prepared to use lethal force should the situation demand it. Under no circumstances must we allow this contemptible plot to succeed.”

Exida sat back for a moment, puffing on his cigarette, then leaned in again. “And if these degenerates at any point attempt to confront you for information, tell them only this: Exida Exis is coming for them. I am coming for them. And they had best pray to whatever heathen gods they worship that I am not the one who finds them.”

GBCE · 04-08-2012, 04:06 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by The Deleter.

This reserve was PUNCHED INTO SPACE

GBCE · 04-12-2012, 08:24 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by The Deleter.

“Cursssesss! Johnny Raptor hasss defeated my finessst henchman! But no matter! Sssoon, I will have completed my ultimate plan, yesss…”

The mysterious figure rambled on in this vein for some time, but he’s not Johnny Raptor so we’ll ignore him for the moment.

--

Everyone’s attention was suddenly taken up by the announcement over the intercoms.

“Exida Exis is coming for them. I am coming for them. And they had best pray to whatever heathen gods they worship that I am not the one who finds them.”

Johnny frowned. There wasn’t an Exida Exis in his rogue’s gallery. His mind pinwheeled for a bit as it tried to make links, create a new villain or rename an old one. And then a memory came up – a deer, a white stag, wearing a wreath of laurels and with an expression of boredom and contempt.

“Not this shitbucket,” groaned Grendel.

“Language!”

“Whatever, kid. Two Personalities in one building is too much for me.”

Johnny didn’t hear that, but he felt the same sentiment. So, the deer had taken control of the facility, eh? Obviously on the payroll of Viper. Some sort of wild animal allegiance – the birds and woodlands animals joining the foul reptiles! What had he ever done to them? He restricted his wildlife-targeted violence to big cats and bears only! Okay, there was that one time he stepped on a mouse, but that was an accident and it had never known what had hit it.

This line of thought was incredibly stupid. Unfortunately, Johnny Raptor didn’t have an inner critic to tell him this, so he zoned out for a bit, mentally cursing all wildlife everywhere.

“What’s a Personality?”

“’s a technical term for a person with an extrasensory influence on others. Think of it as a really pissed-off version of charisma. Or a bratty kid poking you and demanding sweets. An' that antlered asshole's got Personality dancing in his voice like someone put too much cream in a twinkie. I'm pretty much the only reason you aren't worshipping at his feet right now.”

[color=#99z8rz]Felgurd stood still. It presumed that the people it were currently not threats to it, and judging by the way the man called Johnny Raptor had introduced himself, might even be possible allies. They would be interesting to follow, at least. And it wasn’t going to let them move on if it could help it.

Johnny had offered it his hand. Felgurd decided it would take them later, but not now. That would cause unnecessary offence. The boy’s hands were very interesting too. They were young, but made old by use and age, and they had a fair few scars and cuts on them. They would be interesting to add, but Felgurd was no collector and would rather not remove those hands unless it was called for. Instead, it went amongst the unconscious guards and began methodically ripping their hands off instead, adding to its own bulk. There was definitely going to be more conflict in the future, and the more mass it had the better.[/color]

Artemis and Grendel paused in their discussion on the nature of hypersensory charisma and the many forms it took to watch Felgurd do its thing. Faint horror was etched on the boy’s paling face.

“Wha- what is it doing?!”

“I’m as confused as you are, kid.”

“S- stop that!”

Felgurd lifted its face to stare at Artemis.

“Probably not the best plan you’ve had, there.”

Johnny seemed to ignore the hand-ripping entirely. Instead, he returned from his bizarre train of thought, turned around and clapped his hands theatrically, bringing attention back to himself.

“Alright, everyone, change of plans! That Don what’s-his-face guy said we had to find whoever was in charge of this place, and who should make our jobs easier but that bloody deer! So, now we know he’s in charge, I say it would be a good idea to have a good old-fashioned team-up!”

He almost bounded between the two other competitors and clapped a hand on their shoulders. Artemis almost buckled and fell over. Felgurd gave the hand a blank stare.

“Felgurd, this is Artemis. Odd name for a boy, I know, but he’ll be useful in the future. Maybe I’ll make him my sidekick. Artemis, this is Felgurd. I suspect he’ll be handy at some point.”

“That’s not even remotely funny.”

If Johnny heard Grendel at all, he didn’t show it. He turned and pointed dramatically down the corridor, radiating sheer confidence and Johnny Raptor-ness from every pore.

“Alright, men! Let’s go bag us a hunting trophy! JOHNNYYYYYY RAPTOOOOOOOOORRRRRR!!”

He charged off, and Artemis reluctantly followed him at Grendel’s urging. Felgurd paused, unsure of itself, and then loped along behind them.

Zeus, left alone in the corridor, got up, padded over to where Crotalis was knotted around the window frame, and began to bat at its tail.

“Stop that.”

--

There was a memory floating around in Johnny’s head, one of many that he simply didn’t have access to because he was far too busy being himself. He didn’t have time to stand around and reminisce, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to get at this memory anyway, because it wasn’t his.

It wasn’t a very big memory.

It went something lik̶e t̨h͡i҉s.

*-
Sun, warmth, grass. A river, flashing like diamonds.
“Will I see you again, J̡̧̕o̡͜͠͠͡h̀͢n͢?̛́́͘͢”
He looks down at ḩ̵̶͞͞e̸̡̛͞͞r҉̧҉͘͟ ̶̧̀͜͠f̴̧́̕a͠҉̢c̶͟e̵̶̢͡, smells her sickly sweetness of perfume and nicotine, smiles his weak smile.
“O̢͘f̨͘͘ ç͞͏o͟u͘r͝s̛e̡̡͡ ͞y͠o͟u͏̶͏ ̧w̢͘i̵͝l̛͢l̴̵…̧”
The name is lost. The smile isn’t.
“Good.”
The rest is lost.
-*

On reflection, it was probably a good thing that Johnny Raptor couldn’t remember this.

As of this moment, he was currently turning a corner with his newfound team. Team-ups felt good. He was usually in charge of them, and bossing people around was one of his many specialties. He remembered the really good call he made in that fight against the Devious Dinosaurs, when he ordered Elephant Man to break that water pipe. Of course dinosaurs were vulnerable to cold water! It had been a stroke of genius on his part. It was in his mental trophy room with all the others.

Admittedly he couldn’t see how the kid was going to be any use in a fight at all – Crotalis would have eaten that little stripling alive if he hadn’t been there. Felgurd, however, was good solid dumb muscle, which was always required on a team. All they needed now was a nerdy type and a girl and they were ready to –

“Holy shit!”

There was a man at the end of the corridor. He was the biggest, ugliest man Johnny had ever seen, and he was riding the biggest, ugliest horse ever. This was the horse that took other horse’s lunch money when it was a pony and grew up to be a Hell’s Angel. The man was no slouch either, looking like a cross between Ghengis Kahn and a brick shithouse. He appeared to be carrying a scientist slung over one soldier. No accounting for taste, Johnny supposed.

Khagan grinned his biggest, toothiest grin yet.

“Hello! Glad to find you. You are part of game, yes? Maybe you understand rules better than I do! What are rules of this game?”

Johnny opened his mouth to answer, and felt Artemis’ hand on his shoulder.

“Hello, Johnny Raptor. My name is Grendel, I’m a demon of the Second Circle, and you now have the critical task of telling this guy the fact that this is a death tournament without him deciding to turn us into a bloodied smear on the ground, because there is NO way we can fight this guy, and we wouldn’t get thirty yards if we ran. Good fucking luck.”

GBCE · 04-20-2012, 02:16 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by SteelKomodo.

We are sorry to announce that this reserve was devoured by zombies. A moment of silence for this brave reserve.

GBCE · 04-24-2012, 05:06 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by SteelKomodo.

Hello, Johnny Raptor. My name is Grendel, I’m a demon of the Second Circle, and you now have the critical task of telling this guy the fact that this is a death tournament without him deciding to turn us into a bloodied smear on the ground, because there is NO way we can fight this guy, and we wouldn’t get thirty yards if we ran. Good fucking luck.

Johnny blinked, trying to process the fact that not only was Artemis – still a weird name for a boy, he had to admit – speaking without moving his lips, he was now talking like a blender full of gravel with the mannerisms of a drunken Scotsman. These, apparently, were signs of being possessed by a demon, if the voice was to be believed. And the kid seemed like such a nice guy, too. It was always the nice once, Johnny reflected. You never saw the mad priest or the trigger-happy big game hunter turn out to be a demonic creature in disguise. It might have livened up his daily commute somewhat if it did.

There was a long silence, in which Khagan looked back and forth between the three “friends.” He noted the small, scrawny boy that had his hand on the bigger man’s shoulder, despite looking extremely terrified (as he should be), as well as the… thing that was covered in more limbs than should be reasonably possible. He wondered, briefly, if it was the same sort of demon that his mother had told him about when he didn’t eat his second helpings, the one that snatched away starving children. But then again, what would a demon want in this place?

In Artemis’s head, there was a large argument.

Why did you speak to him?! Artemis was shrieking in panic. Do you really trust him that much?!

Kid, growled the demon in thoughtspeak, if anyone can get us out of this mess, it’s him. A personality this strong should have no shitting trouble.

But LOOK at him, the orphan wailed. Do you think HE knows what a Personality is? Or why he should care?

Who fucking cares?! So long as Johnny can hold his concentration for five minutes, then we’re out of here!

But supposing if…

[color=#99z8rz]Felgurd couldn’t hear this argument, or indeed any other sound apart from the occasional snort of the giant horse in front of it. It could see that the large man had very big hands – thick, strong hands with lots of muscle – but it doubted he was just give them away. Felgurd liked being all in one piece, thank you very much, and was of the sneaking suspicion that this new man would probably render it into multiple pieces if it tried anything violent or aggressive. He looked like the sort who has very attached So it hung back, wondering vaguely what was going to happen next, or if it was worth going back to collect some more arms. There had been some particularly good ones back there.[/color]

“Well?”

Johnny snapped back into reality, looking back at Khagan’s leering visage. He coughed as a hundred backhanded insults involving a garden rake and a grenade flashed through his mind, and tried to collect his thoughts. A game? What did he mean about a game? They were trying to stop that bloody deer taking over the world, surely? Did someone leave a Monopoly set lying around or something, and now they were trying to find it?

“Um, yes… Game…” he began, nervously.

Good, good, whispered Grendel, who may have been invisibly wetting himself out of panic. Keep going.

No, groaned Artemis’ voice at the back of the boy’s head. Don’t keep going. We’re all going to die.

“Well… the rules are…”

“Yes?” Khagan’s voice was thick with impatience. What was this man trying to get at? Did he not realise what was going on, that there was a game happening and there was an urgent need to get to the bottom of it all? The warlord seriously doubted that, considering he was built like two bullocks lashed together and had a stupid little helmet on that didn’t cover his face. Then again, the other two didn’t look too smart, either – the boy was thin enough to turn to paste beneath his horse’s hooves, and the thing made of limbs… the less said about that, the better. Khagan’s frustrations were growing – if this man did not offer a reasonable explanation, then he would-

The intercom crackled to life.

“No, you idiot, I asked for DECAFF coffee! What kind of MISERABLE establishment dares to serve-“

And then it clicked off again. But as it did, an idea clicked into Johnny’s head. It was a good idea. Not the sort that would get into the trophy room with the pike-breaking award, but it was pretty damn close, if he was any judge. What better way to redirect the annoyance of this confused horseman and boost up their team? Johnny Raptor, you goddamned genius. Give yourself a medal.

He looked Khagan in the face – no easy feat – and grinned.

“The rules of the game,” he said in his usual swarthy Johnny Raptor voice, “is to find the guy on the other end of that intercom and kill him.”

There was a long pause.

“Then Khagan grinned – this was the facial equivalent of a fissure splitting open in the earth.

“Well, why not say so first?” he boomed, suddenly looking a lot less fearsome. “Let us go, friends! First to kill gets head as trophy!”

And with that, the warlord yanked on his reigns. The horse gave an ear-splitting whinny as it turned on it’s hind legs, then broke into a manic gallop down another hallway, hooves striking sparks off of the floor as it ran. The group watched in amazement as he sped away from them, not even glancing back in his eargerness to get wherever the main control room was first.

There was another long pause, which was thankfully interrupted when Artemis cleared his throat.

“I… think we’d better follow him,” he suggested, quietly.

No shit, grumbled Grendel within his head.

Whatever counterargument Artemis could have made was lost when Johnny scooped him up under one arm.

“Let’s go, boys!” he shouted. “After that man!” And with that, he set off at a rousing pace, [color=#99z8rz]quickly followed by Felgurd, who, for reasons it's couldn't quite place was starting to get rather excited by what was going on.

Maybe there would be hands where they were going.[/color]

--

As they ran, Johnny found the time for idle banter.

"So," he said as followed the sound of impossibly-loud hoofsteps, "Demon of the Second Circle, eh?"

That's right, responded Grendel.

"What's it like, working in Hell?"

A brief pause.

Utter shite.

"Really? What did you do?"

You know how in the circle of Lust, people get blown about by winds for some really poorly-defined reason? Well, guess who had to turn the handle to make the winds blow? Three hours in and your spine starts turning into a modern art masterpiece.

Johnny could feel the resentment dripping off Grendel's words. He himself never cared for hard labour - it was the sort of thing best left to other, less handsome folks. Why break your back doing boring, routine work when you could be travelling the world, saving countries from Viper and wooing cute secretaries?

"So I take it there's not much to see in Hell, then?" he enquired.

Well, if you like seeing a lot of naked-

"Grendel!"

Alright, kid, I'm only saying. So yeah, not much.

"Fair enough."

[color=#99z8rz]Felgurd wondered why the large man was talking to himself.[/color]

--

“He’͠s WHAT?̵!͡”
͜
̴“͡Um̢… He̴’̀s at́ a̡ ͟g̨o̕ver͟nme̸nt b̷ui͞ld̶ing͜, ̶mý ͜l͢o̵r͟d.”
̴
“̨…̷L̴u̧ci̡fe̵r b̴e̕lo̸w,͠ ͘I ͜k̕n͘ow ̸he ͟wan̴te͜d ͘to ͏mák̶e a ͏s̴p̷l͞a̸s̛h,̀ b҉ut ̷thi͏s̸ ͠i҉s ͝a̵ ̛bit̵ too͠ ͜m̨u͠c̶h,̶ ͟d̕on’t ̨y͏o͡u͠ t͢hińk̢?”͠ ̡
͡ ̷
̨“̨He ͏alw̕ay҉s͞ had͝ ̵amb̀it̀i̛o͞n͢,͏ m҉y͠ l͝or͘d͠.͡ H̕e̴ll̡ ͠know͜s ́what̕ ͘h͘e͟ ̡w̴ill̴ ̶do.͜”͏
̴
“̸H́m̡m…̴”̧ ͜

“̨M͢y͢ ͘lo͘rd̀?̷”

"̸Ke̷ep an eye͡ ́on ̷h͢im̵.̀ T̷h͘is͠ cou͝ld͏ ͢be ̛wo̢r͏th ͢w̕a̡t̵c̶hi͟ńg̶...̴"

GBCE · 04-28-2012, 06:07 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Flummox.

[color=#99z8rz]Felgurd had mostly regained his senses – no longer the confused, stumbling figure he was earlier, he took long, easy strides to keep up with Johnny Raptor, who was faster than any human should possibly be. He felt odd – a weird sense of joy was bubbling up inside him, something he hadn’t felt since, well, he hadn’t felt it ever.

He felt as if he belonged, here, running alongside these two humans, to somewhere he didn’t know. He didn’t know where they were going, no, but there was a certain sense of exhilaration in it all – the reckless speed, wind rushing through his fingers and whipping his necktie up behind his neck – not the feeling of being chased, no, the feeling of chasing. Dare I say it? He felt friendship.

As they careened around corners and raced through hallways, Felgurd said casually, “What is my purpose?”

His voice was no longer hostile, or confused, but had taken on a new tone entirely – one he hadn’t used since Tolgurd had gone – indeed, his voice embodied a tone of wonder. The same wonder that small boys have when they look up at the stars, the wonder that fills men’s voices when they crane their necks to see the top of a roaring waterfall – if he could have smiled, his face would have broken in two. [/color]

Johnny Raptor was far enough ahead that he didn’t hear him over the sound of the horse’s hooves, but Artemis’ feet were pounding along somewhere behind Felgurd – though he was far too out of breath to answer him.

“What is he talking about?” he said internally to Grendel.

“I don’t know! Does it matter? Why don’t you ask him?”

“My lungs are kind of busy doing something else? Why don’t you?” he reached out to touch Felgurd so Grendel could talk to him, but his arm fell short.

“Ugh. Don’t bother.”

But Artemis reached out again, and this time caught hold of his sleeve. He waited for Grendel to start talking, but instead heard another, different sound – an extremely loud, high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream – he jerked his hand back, as if he had touched something scalding – and a blast of mental pain invaded his head, like all the headaches in the history of the world were condensing themselves into a single moment inside his brain – and he fell over, backwards, hitting his head on the floor.

[color=#99z8rz]Felgurd stopped and turned around, staring curiously at Artemis, sprawled on the floor.[/color]

“Chrissakes, Grendel, what the hell was that?”

Grendel’s voice was raw and contorted, obviously the voice of someone who is in a great deal of pain.

“I don’t know – it’s something from another place, another time, another dimension – the creatures of hell have no power over it. It’s soulless, Artemis, it never had a soul. It shouldn’t be alive.”

Felgurd walked over and was about to hoist Artemis to his feet, but he scrambled away, not wishing to experience that again.

“Keep running, kid, they’re getting away from you!” Grendel was back to his normal cynical self. “Ugh, you can’t do anything by yourself, can you.”

And Artemis was off running without a word, though this time not under his own jurisdiction.

[color=#99z8rz]If Felgurd had any knowledge of human gestures, he would have shrugged, but as the case is, he simply stared at Artemis’ figure receding in the hallway. He took off running after him.[/color]

GBCE · 04-30-2012, 09:09 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Yako.

"...The contest."

"I do not-- what?"

"You were at the dinner. I remember you. We're in some sort
of contest together, correct?"

Zenith paused, looking the girl over long and hard. Slowly: "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh." I thought you looked familiar, he wanted to say, but his grasp of English failed him and he could instead only offer a toothy dumb smile.

Then a pause; a sudden realization as he remembered the rules. "Wait--" he cursed to all the Vella Kehn deities he could remember. "You'll not kill--"[/color]

"No." She forced her mouth into a brief smile; the creature before her was... odd. Not the least bit menacing, but his dazed mannerisms felt off. As curious as she was about this specimen, she had to stay on her guard.

So instead of stopping for a long chat, she retrieved her hosts' memory of the Presidentialgon's dark secrets and resumed her journey. "If I kill you," she explained as she walked away, "The locale changes. And I need some things here."

Zenith chose to entirely ignore the girl's unwillingness to talk, sprinting to catch up and quickly falling into stride beside Altara. "What kind of things?"

"Secrets."

Well that was rather terse.

"What kind of secrets?"

"Secrets that could help me."

Okay, now she was intentionally being cryptic. The thought did not occur to him, not even for a second, that she may not enjoy his company at the present moment.

"Ah, yeah, that... works." He fell silent as he mulled over how to turn this odd situation to his favor. After running through several scenarios in his head, he picked the direct approach.

"Would any of these secrets be, ah... biological in nature?"

She looked pensive for a moment or two, then gave a little halfhearted shrug. "The possibility hadn't occurred to me, but–"

"We should call a truce!" Altara quirked an eyebrow at him; it was enough incentive to continue. "You want not to kill me, and it is against all ethics for me to kill. So... we could stay together for a while!"

He paused, waiting for her to raise an objection. When none came, he continued. "There are seven others, right? We would not have to die for some time."

Though the girl did not outright accept the proposition, she didn't stop the extraterrestrial from following her. For the time being it was good enough for him.

They walked together until the intercom crackled to life.

"Citizens of the Presidentialgon."

Zenith jumped back a few paces, froze. Altara only slowed, head tilted.

"This is Exida Exis, newly appointed Homeland Forest Defense Administrator."

The pair listened intently as the intercom issued their death warrant.

Everyone wants to kill us. They'll kill us.

Zenith was frozen to the spot; he was only mildly aware of a hand on his arm and the scenery around him changing, his feet bumping along the seams of the flooring.

I can't hide anywhere, I'm not from this planet–

As the intercom went off with a small pop, he attempted to gather his bearings. He soon realized that Altara had been dragging him along during the latter half of the short speech.

She stopped now in front of a door. Without a second thought, she tapped a code into a panel. The door slid open.

"This is where they test all their new weapons," she explained. "I thought there might be some objects of use for us here.

"I call truce."