Millennium City: Nova - Welcome to Millennium City! (Wave One Intro)


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Mentions: Haz. Haz. ManyFaces ManyFaces Drakerus Drakerus
Location: Between Stroheim and Felix
Action: The sitting position



Pat was looking at the ground with an expressionless face thinking about the fact how cotton is a crop it would infer all items of clothing covering your top made out of cotton would be a crop-top.A state of mind brought by being slightly bored, or the blood loss, hopefully not the former. Fortunately, Lann shows taking his attention trying to move him, a task that might be hard to achieve for such a relatively young man.

Pat slowly lifts his head up to look at the prospective edgy jrpg protagonist and says to him with an unenthusiastic tone; "Well there are many reasons to advent the position of my dorsal muscles upon the ground beneath me. One of them being that I am in the center of the action so I can somewhat stay awake and the other being the fact that the situation is a lot less dangerous than you think."He says as he rearranges himself more comfortably holding himself upright with his working hand.

"The fanatical cybo-" he says as Mercer's sharp phallic object protrudes from under Stroheim" Excuse me, the possibly impaled fanatical cyborg seems to have turned a new leaf and uhh is you know.... possibly impaled. While on the other hand the other threat is currently being tackled, literally. And right now moving might be hard due to my ..." at that point he stops himself thinking that the kid is pretty selfless coming into a possibly dangerous situation trying to help him selflessly, a sign of a righteous soul and not being one to sully possible investments by worrying them with such trivial matters as debilitating flesh wounds he continues" ass cramp, yup ass cramp.".

He then looks towards the impaled Stroheim surveying the situation he sees Maxwell resting on a rock, he turns his head opening his shoulder wound again slightly but clearly not caring anymore and he says to him; "Hey well-defined chin! How about you bet your imaginary friend, you win if he survives" referring to Stroheim.
 
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jigglesworth said:
Once the melee attackers backed off from the German, Corvo aimed his pistol once again at their downed foe. Before he shot, though, Stroheim suddenly launched his last fist through the air, but not at anyone Corvo could immediately see. His gaze followed the fist through the air, all the way to an armored man's face. The assassin was able to catch said man pointing a gun at the fox holding the other animal before he got sucker punched. Corvo winces at the sight, glad he wasn't hit by that. The man was able to quickly stand up, however, and fire a shot at the German robot. Corvo would confront the man, but orders from the rifleman stopped him. He's glad someone is taking charge here, and calling the shots, because this group desperately needs it. Whether or not Corvo even wants to befriend anyone here, this situation direly needs some leadership. Something Corvo doesn't have too much experience with.
So, the old man refocuses on the robot stuck on the ground by dark tendrils. He has no hands, and only one foot, so standing up probably isn't a viable option for the machine, not that he could. Most of his weapons are inoperable, except for some sort of beam that comes out of his eye, strong enough to break a chain and hot enough to burn flesh. As far as Corvo can tell, the battle is already won. It is possible for the German to come back, sure, but it's unlikely. Though, the robot rescuing the two animals did make Corvo think twice about outright killing him. The assassin was pretty sure he only did so out of honor, and not actually a good heart, though. Still, perhaps it earns him a chance to flee. Corvo trained his pistol to Stroheim's head as he walked from the protection of the white haired man's old shield. He got within Stroheim's line of sight, risking being shot by the aforementioned beam. The assassin holstered his pistol, feeling it would be easier to persuade the German when he isn't at gunpoint.
"The battle is nearly over, Stroheim. We have you outnumbered and, finally, outgunned. Though, not outsmarted," he glanced towards the pink-haired girl with a hand-cannon as he said the last sentence. "Stand down now, end the battle on your own terms, rather than with your defeat. We're all just a bunch of confused people in a new world, there's no reason to attack us." he said to the robot. Though the last part he wasn't entirely sure of, and was something that itched at the assassin's mind. Why did Stroheim do this? Going to all the trouble to bring them here, giving them a fraction of their power back, then fighting them? An ulterior motive is likely at hand, but that question would come later, should Stroheim accept Corvo's proposal of stopping the fight.
Haz. Haz.
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Niwatori gets out from behind the cover she was hiding behind, vision from her birds showing Corvo suggesting Stroheim's surrender. Seen as another opportunity to create an innocent, respectable and caring image of herself to others; she raises her hands showing that she had no weapons nor any intention to fight Stroheim.

Slowly walking towards the center of the warehouse as the fighting began to die out with her hands still raised, she stands next to Corvo, looking at the damaged Stroheim. Seeing a small amount of light rays exiting Stroheim's stomach from the orb, she leans over and holds her hand above his chest, absorbing the energy from the orb. Her spading fork begins to form in her free hand and she smiles, standing up straight, clasping her weapon.
"Cockscomb, I missed you..." Chicken remarks to herself.

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Gripping her weapon, she looks around and presents herself with a smile on her face to the rest of the group, mostly aiming her focus at Mercer.
"Everyone, can we put down our weapons and stop the fight..?"
"It doesn't seem like he can fight anymore.. "
"He gave us our powers, surely he doesn't mean too much harm?"


Corrosion Corrosion Haz. Haz.​
 
BarrenThin2 said:
Widowmaker's response was biting. Defensive, even. It didn't really catch Geralt off guard, as he was often wont to do the same thing. She didn't trust him, and she seemed to be on edge. Figuring he'd try to loosen her up and help her keep a clear head in the fight, he made a noise that could best be described as dismissive at the strange-skinned woman. "You don't need to act tough for me. I don't doubt your competence. I just need to know if you're hurt. Don't want anyone dying on my watch. It wouldn't do to get a blemish like that on my reputation." The witcher shot her a half-smirk and a wink.

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When she went in to save CHEF, he nodded approvingly, and turned his head to everyone else in the back. "If you're going to attack, now's the time! Shoot the fucking thing!" He gritted his teeth and moved with Lucario and the strange fox person, keeping the shield in front of them in case Stroheim tried to cut off their escape. When Felix began to threaten them, the witcher growled to himself and muttered an array of curses. Before he could do anything to help, though, Felix got suckerpunched by a flying arm.

For a split second, Geralt tried to lock eyes with Stroheim, his own yellow eyes narrowing with equal parts confusion and suspicion. Why was their opponent helping them? Could it be related to the sense of honor the man had referred to earlier? Whatever the case, he gave their opponent a begrudging nod of respect once he was no longer stunned. Hopefully, his death would be quick and painless.

At any rate, as Felix fired at Stroheim and the fox started shouting at him, Geralt whipped around with his still temporarily enhanced agility, making the Axii sign towards the new, armored-clad individual, the rune appearing the air in front of his palm. If Felix wasn't prepared for such a mental assault, or was simply weak-willed, Geralt could outright dominate him for a few seconds. If he was, it would simply stun him for a moment or two. Either way, he looked at Frank with a commanding grunt before charging the armored man himself, attempting to tackle him to the ground in this window.

uwupolice uwupolice FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla Haz. Haz. DapperDogman DapperDogman Corrosion Corrosion thatguyinthestore thatguyinthestore Jeremiah Jeremiah YellowTemperence YellowTemperence Shadowfall Shadowfall

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Felix, being quite the strong-willed individual, managed to resist Geralt's assault on his mind for the most part, leading to him outright sidestepping the tackle and countering with a shot to Geralt's shoulder while he was still mid-air.

latest


"Tch. Did you really think you could pull one over on me, old man? I'll have you know that I graduated top of my class in the UNSC, and I've been involved in numerous raids on the Covenant Armada, and I have over three hundred confirmed kills. I'm highly trained in gorilla warfare and was the top sniper in the UNSC armed forces. You are nothing to me but another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which you have never seen before. You think you can get away with doing that shit to me? Think again fucke---THE HELL?!"

Before Felix could finish his gloating, he suddenly found himself being disarmed by Frank. With his gun now out of his possession, Felix turned to Frank and snarled. "The fuck are you assholes even attacking me for?! I wasn't actually gonna shoot the furry. I was just trying to figure out where the fuck I am." Felix said in his defense. Of course, the mercenary had every intention of shooting both Fiona and Lucario, though that didn't have to be said aloud.

BarrenThin2 BarrenThin2 FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla Centurion_ Centurion_ Haz. Haz. Jeremiah Jeremiah Daunting_Doggo Daunting_Doggo YellowTemperence YellowTemperence ​
 
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widowmaker | amelié lacroix









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    The cat eyed mans words clung to the back of her mind, drifting away from that to focus on the task at hand: saving CHEF.
    Saving? The word could never spill out of her mouth, but it tasted nice on her tongue and played around questionably in her head.
    A part of her was attracted to the sound of 'saving'. It hinted a step towards redemption and away from Talon.
    But wait- Did she really want to get away from Talon? Did she want to become some token hero for Overwatch?
    The creation of what is Widowmaker hissed at the thought of sparing a life instead of taking one. It went against her programming and her seeming only purpose in this world.

    The old and torn ballerina continued to fight this.

    "Oui, je peux bouger"
    His arms slid around her and she shot her grappling hook up to the higher platform. It was a tad bit slower than before, but with the help of her strength of her and the grappling hook, they made it up there safely.
    Widowmaker pondered about taking CHEF down to cover with the others.. but it appeared that they were fleeing?
    She quirked an eyebrow and shook her head the slightest, thinking it best it will be good to stay up here for now. Maybe she could get a few shots in.. or at least one critical one.

    Amelie glanced back at the beaten down robot before pulling out Widows Kiss. She quickly scoped in and surveyed the area, about to pull the trigger when she noticed the hooded man from earlier..
    He stabbed an ivory claw into the ground, causing the ground to crack and a sudden inky, black spike to protrude from the ground and give the possibility of penetrating Stronheim.

    The assassin took this chance to aim for his head, or better yet, the weak spot Lucario pointed out.
    Amelie stared down the sight, finger sliding over the trigger once more before pulling..


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Haz. Haz. FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla BarrenThin2 BarrenThin2 uwupolice uwupolice Nightwisher Nightwisher Drakerus Drakerus @all others in the warehouse
Asuka cried. People ganging up and on even an armed person that turned helpless as soon as the tide was turned to the group's favor, and yet, she somewhat still didn't know about Stroheim's true intentions. Maybe they weren't all bad. Maybe none of those were good at all. She did understand that he was a Nazi and to call a Nazi bad would be a big understatement, but she didn't know about what crimes Stroheim did at all, so she had an incomplete picture of him. So she decided to keep staying in the corner, sitting and cradled up.​
 
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Stroheim gazed upon Corvo with a keen yet stern expression, brow furrowed whilst he clenched his severed wrist.
"You are correct in one respect, assassin;" The German, despite his weakened state, tore through Maxwell's remaining tentacles with incomprehensible ease and limped to his feet (foot), as though he was physically capable of doing so in the first place, though was simply holding back.
"I am, indeed, outnumbered. That is true, but..." He smugly shook his head, adjusting his monocle with an aura of sinister confidence.
"...You seem ignorant of the fact that I am not, in fact, outgunned."
In the distance, a faint wheezing chimed from behind the thin, decrepit walls of the warehouse, like the low sound of an approaching train. As though it was in the blink of an eye, Mercer and Amélié found themselves laying flat on their asses, the former's erupting tendrils retracted back into his claw before they even had a chance to rise from the ground and the latter's rifle tossed a good few feet away from where she originally stood.
And von Stroheim? From his severed stumps, cables dragged near-identical replicas of his detached limbs. When the plugs and sockets clicked, the soldier's fingertips split open to reveal tiny, centimetre-long gatling guns protruding from each individual digit like the most absurd yet literal finger guns witnessed and wielded by man.
"I had these carefully crafted by a gifted, young, German scientist during my brief stay here. And I do believe each of these make up for each and every single one of you."
The German raised his hands, chortling in a brash and mildly demeaning fashion.
"Isn't German science truly the greatest!?" He cackled, eventually regaining his composure as he, once again, smugly adjusted his monocle, this time rather awkwardly what with his little gatling gun barrels for fingertips.
"Regardless, I do believe you're correct, Corvo. The battle is over and you have all proven to me that, when driven by the thirst for survival and not simply some artificial will to demonstrate your capabilities, you are truly inspiring adversaries. I do also believe I owe you some explanations, so explanations you shall receive:
I was tasked by the mayor to test and weigh the might of the city's newcomers, so as to gather forces and ready the denizens for what is to come. Had I explained my motives from the moment you'd arrived, you would have likely held back and thus hid your authentic strength, which was why I was forced to strike first. As for your performance, I believe that, if honed, your cooperation as a team could lead you to become a true force to be reckoned with, and perhaps the thing this city has always needed.
While I cannot explain why you have been brought here (as I, myself, do not know much), I can promise to aid you if my help is beckoned." The Nazi reached into his uniform pocket and unveiled a walkie-talkie, eagerly pressing it into Corvo's grip.
"Now then, I must part. History awaits the great Rudol von Stroheim!" Without offering any further exposition, the soldier turned on his heel and marched out the barely still standing front door, right arm inclined upwards in the gesture of a Nazi salute.
"German science is the best in all the world!"

 
~Shilo Saga: Interacting with @Asuka ( marc122 marc122 ) and Anyone Anyone else
Location: Inside the warehouse at 52 Grapevine Street Northeast

Shilo sighed, sheathing her throwing knives as it became increasingly clear that she wasn't going to be able to fight. That was not only disappointing, but rather terrifying. Sure, the group had numbers, but after witnessing a few things that the group could do...Shilo wasn't sure how safe she felt here anymore. However, it seemed that people were much less worried about the Nazi now and were more worried about some asshat in armor...Shilo narrowed her eyes, watching the situation before rolling her eyes and turning away from it all. Maybe the people here were more dangerous for the recklessness than their actual skill. The assassin looked over to the child she had talked down earlier, who was still crying, and hesitated. She could leave now, easily, and explore the city on her own. It would easily be less dangerous and she wouldn't have to deal with anyone trying to get to know her... She wouldn't have to worry about getting know anyone else either. The assassin bit the inside of her lip and groaned internally, she wasn't about to walk out on a scared child though. Shilo strode over to Asuka and crouched down so that she was as eye level as she could be with the girl, knowing full well the worst thing to do in this situation is stand over the child and make her feel even smaller and more scared of it all. "Was ist los mit dir?" ("What's wrong?") The raven haired woman asked the four year old. Her back was to the rest of the group and all the action going on, she even ignored Stroheim marching out the front door sieg heil-ing as if the group needed any more reason to hate him.
 
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Lucario

The True Beginning (TITLE CARD PLEASE)

Lucario was still wounded, but he was relieved to find that Stroheim had no ill intent with them after all. Of course, he was a bit worried over the cyborg's words...

"I was tasked by the mayor to test and weigh the might of the city's newcomers, so as to gather forces and ready the denizens for what is to come." The cyborg had said. Lucario couldn't get that last part out of his mind. What was to come in the future? If they were even bigger threats than Stroheim... Lucario would have to train hard and become as powerful as he was before if he was going to stand a chance against whatever they were going to face. His injuries were not helping to lessen his worries. The sooner I start my training again, the better I'll feel... Lucario thought to himself.

He stared at Felix, pain still shooting through both of his paws. Thankfully, adrenaline was finally beginning to kick in, and he was able to ignore it for the time being.

"Hey..." he called out to Felix weakly, trying to grin to the best of his ability. "We know just as much as you. A lot of us woke up in a train headed for this place, followed a letter here, and the next thing we know, we were being attacked by commander flat-hair here..." He chuckled, then grimaced as he realized the pain was beginning to stir up in his paws again. Being stuck in Fiona's arms made him feel a little worthless, but he mentally thanked her anyway. If it weren't for her and the others, Lucario could've ended up in a much, much worse state than now...

(A cursor appears. Letter by letter, the name is spelled out in front of the backdrop of the gorgeous city...)

mcnrp.png

It's time we really get down to business! Lucario cheered internally.

Mentions:
Jeremiah Jeremiah
Haz. Haz.
thatguyinthestore thatguyinthestore
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  • Woods grunted- somewhat common for him during a fight- as he managed to clout the futuristic, gloating soldier's pistol out of his hand while he was crowing about how the Marine's grey-haired ally missed the tackle- unfortunately, the American was too slow to stop his comrade from taking a bullet to the shoulder, which really sucked because that added another ally that was WIA. His scowl deepened as he stomped his foot on the pistol on the ground, making it pretty much inaccessible for anyone sans the CIA agent himself.

    "All you need to know about this place is: One, don't fuck with a Marine-" As Frank spoke, he internally had a gut feeling that his first order happened to be the catch phrase of someone else- "and two, don't fuck with a Marine's allies, especially not for your own fucking entertainment!" He scowled before his index finger closed the distance on his M16A1's trigger. The only thing that stopped him was the damned Nazi pulling something out of his ass once more.

    He could only watch in sheer shock as Stroheim suddenly repaired himself back up to a practically-brand-new state, as though Woods' barrage of 40mms and 5.56x45mm NATO rounds did absolutely nothing to slow the German down at all. Woods turned his back to Felix, aiming his rifle at the German, before the cocky bastard started speaking. The American listened quietly, his expression changing rapidly as the man spoke, before the fucker just dramatically left the scene. Frank's expression, having been more incredulous, became much more stoic and grim as he turned over to the soldier, shaking his head as he lowered his gun.

    "Consider this your lucky break, punk. I suggest you take your fucking gun-" Woods kicked the pistol over to Felix at this point- "and get outta here. If I see you threatening another one of my comrades or even someone who I personally wouldn't consider a 'bad guy', we're gonna have fucking trouble. Now scram," Frank growled menacingly, before turning to Geralt and gesturing to his shoulder wound.

    "You might want to take care of that, get to a hospital," He noted nonchalantly before focusing his attention mostly on the two "children", Lann and Niwatori. The Marine walked over to both of them, slinging his M16 over his back, seemingly ready to chide them.

    "I thought I told you two to stay in cover, not run out into the open," Frank noted, raising an eyebrow at both before sighing and shaking his head.

    "Well, guess we got time to rest up from that freak," The SOG agent exhaled, walking over to a pile of rubble and sitting down.

    Little did he know that his resting time would be cut short.
 
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Nightwisher Nightwisher
"N--Nichts, Schiwo. (N--Nothing, Shilo.)"

Asuka said, her voice almost cracking under her sadness, getting up and going around Shilo, metaphorically pushing her aside, as she proceeded to exit the ruined warehouse where Stroheim and the others had fought in.

"Wir sehen uns später, Schiwo. Auf Wiedersehen. (I'll see you later around, Shilo. Goodbye.)"​
 
Infuriated Infant said:
Stroheim gazed upon Corvo with a keen yet stern expression, brow furrowed whilst he clenched his severed wrist.
"You are correct in one respect, assassin;" The German, despite his weakened state, tore through Maxwell's remaining tentacles with incomprehensible ease and limped to his feet (foot), as though he was physically capable of doing so in the first place, though was simply holding back.
"I am, indeed, outnumbered. That is true, but..." He smugly shook his head, adjusting his monocle with an aura of sinister confidence.
"...You seem ignorant of the fact that I am not, in fact, outgunned."
In the distance, a faint wheezing chimed from behind the thin, decrepit walls of the warehouse, like the low sound of an approaching train. As though it was in the blink of an eye, Mercer and Amélié found themselves laying flat on their asses, the former's erupting tendrils retracted back into his claw before they even had a chance to rise from the ground and the latter's rifle tossed a good few feet away from where she originally stood.
And von Stroheim? From his severed stumps, cables dragged near-identical replicas of his detached limbs. When the plugs and sockets clicked, the soldier's fingertips split open to reveal tiny, centimetre-long gatling guns protruding from each individual digit like the most absurd yet literal finger guns witnessed and wielded by man.
"I had these carefully crafted by a gifted, young, German scientist during my brief stay here. And I do believe each of these make up for each and every single one of you."
The German raised his hands, chortling in a brash and mildly demeaning fashion.
"Isn't German science truly the greatest!?" He cackled, eventually regaining his composure as he, once again, smugly adjusted his monocle, this time rather awkwardly what with his little gatling gun barrels for fingertips.
"Regardless, I do believe you're correct, Corvo. The battle is over and you have all proven to me that, when driven by the thirst for survival and not simply some artificial will to demonstrate your capabilities, you are truly inspiring adversaries. I do also believe I owe you some explanations, so explanations you shall receive:
I was tasked by the mayor to test and weigh the might of the city's newcomers, so as to gather forces and ready the denizens for what is to come. Had I explained my motives from the moment you'd arrived, you would have likely held back and thus hid your authentic strength, which was why I was forced to strike first. As for your performance, I believe that, if honed, your cooperation as a team could lead you to become a true force to be reckoned with, and perhaps the thing this city has always needed.
While I cannot explain why you have been brought here (as I, myself, do not know much), I can promise to aid you if my help is beckoned." The Nazi reached into his uniform pocket and unveiled a walkie-talkie, eagerly pressing it into Corvo's grip.
"Now then, I must part. History awaits the great Rudol von Stroheim!" Without offering any further exposition, the soldier turned on his heel and marched out the barely still standing front door, right arm inclined upwards in the gesture of a Nazi salute.
"German science is the best in all the world!"

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Seeing the woman who had saved him being flung backward, CHEF reaches out quickly, catching her wrist with a surprisingly gentle grip. His knee bent as he caught her, ensuring she wouldn't fall. The coldness in his optics had vanished, and his voice had returned to normal "Êtes-vous d'accord, mademoiselle? (Are you okay, miss?)"

His other hand had caught the rifle as it flew from her grip, not wanting to allow it to be damaged by falling from the catwalk. It seems that with the combat over, CHEF was now back to aiming to serve his companions, instead of defending them ferociously.

For a moment, he stands there, looking at her, optics full of that special something from before, that almost-awareness. And for the first time, he speaks clearly, lacking the usual mechanical logic behind each word. He speaks a poem that Woods and Amélié might recognize. Each for entirely different reasons

"Log #210 recovered. Beginning playback"

"Les sanglots longs, Des violons, De l’automne
Blessent mon coeur, D’une langueur, Monotone.

Tout suffocant, Et blême, quand, Sonne l’heure,
Je me souviens, Des jours anciens, Et je pleure

Et je m’en vais, Au vent mauvais, Qui m’emporte
Deçà, delà, Pareil à la, Feuille morte."

(When a sighing begins, In the violins, Of the autumn-song
My heart is drowned, In the slow sound, Languorous and long

Pale as with pain, Breath fails me when, The hours toll deep.
My thoughts recover, The days that are over, And I weep.

And I go, Where the winds know, Broken and brief,
To and fro, As the winds blow, A dead leaf.)

After the moment, he seems to return to normal, slowly pulling Amélié to her feet and returning her rifle, before swiveling his head to check on the others. Despite the heavy damage he had sustained in the fight, he seems to be more worried about the others in the group.

uwupolice uwupolice BarrenThin2 BarrenThin2 Corrosion Corrosion FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla​
 
Geralt was a confident, but cautious man. He generally considered himself good at sizing up his opponents, and better still at bringing them down. So, when the bolt from the deceptively small weapon in Felix's hand ripped into his shoulder and left Geralt almost literally spinning from the force, he wasn't at all prepared for the gush of warm blood under his shirt, or the shooting pain that seemed to arc through his entire body. The witcher let out a surprised yell of pain, grasping at his shoulder, that quickly turned into an infuriated growl. By the time he recovered and was ready to retaliate, though, Felix had already been disarmed, and, hopefully, would back off after the threats from Frank.

Promptly, he sat down, still clutching his shoulder. Unfortunately, he didn't specialize in healing magic; the one form he knew quite literally required someone to attack him whilst using the active Quen shield, and, if he didn't have the strength to resist the blow and the repulsive force of the collapsed shield didn't drive his attack back, the blow would continue and likely simply end his newfound pain then and there. More curses escaped his lips, frustration evident in his furrowed brow and narrowed eyes as he did his best to examine his wounds. For now, he tore some fabric off his sleeve and tied it around the wound, simply hoping to stop the bleeding as much as possible. It was crude, but it would do for now. His eyes turned to Frank when the man spoke.

"Hospital... You mean a healer. Yeah, I would, if I had any idea where one was," The White Wolf muttered with a glower in Felix's direction. For now, though, he stood and moved over to CHEF, Widow, and Mercer, the part of the bandage still visible from his collar was already turning a deep crimson. "Hope you're all alright. Can't say the same for myself. I don't think it hit any major blood vessels, but I've never been shot with one of those things before." Already, he seemed a bit uncertain in his step; With his reduced physical endurance, Geralt could only take so much punishment, after all. "Are any of you hurt? Oh, and uh... Sorry for not introducing myself before. Didn't know if I could trust you. Name's Geralt of Rivia."


DapperDogman DapperDogman uwupolice uwupolice Corrosion Corrosion FactionGuerrilla FactionGuerrilla​
 
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ALEX MERCER


  • Warehouse, 52 Northeast Grapevine Street

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Mercer retracted his Claws with a grunt of dissatisfaction. Somehow, the Nazi cyborg had not only neglected the effects of his Groundspike, but also managed to knock him back in the blink of an eye. Usually, he would double his attack, going in for another series of lightning-fast strikes, but now, he was intent on listening to whatever the cyborg had to say. The fight may have been concluded, but now, the desire for answers came flooding back. Though the man's words hardly answered anything, Mercer understood that everyone in the room were exceptionally powerful individuals who either had skills that exceeded those of normal humans, or had superhuman powers, just like himself.

But what did Stroheim mean when he said that they were what the city always needed. And who was this mayor? Maybe he or she was the one who brought them here in the first place.

Those questions lingered in Alex's head even as Stroheim pledged his allegiance to them as he left the building with a Nazi salute. Mercer was snapped out of his thoughts by the robotic chef reciting a familiar French poem, oddly without the usual robotic tone in its words. "Chanson d'automne... fitting. Very fitting." He commented, recalling the words of one of the most famous French-language poems, and the signal to begin Operation Overlord during the Second World War.

The sound of a gunshot rang out, followed by the sound of a projectile impacting flesh. Mercer spun to face the offended as he activated his Claws, only to see that the Marine had disarmed the grey and orange-armoured man. Deciding that he had the situation under control, he retracted his Claws and turned back to the victim, the white-haired man. A steady stream of blood was beginning to trickle down his shoulder as he ripped some fabric off his sleeve and formed a makeshift tourniquet, tying it around the wound.

Concerned, Mercer rushed over. As slow to trust as he was, he had decided that it was best to stick with the group he had the most contact with. Or maybe it was instinct, or subconscious thoughts gained from consuming so many doctors and medical professionals. He crouched down in front of the man. "I'm fine." He answered, rather surprised at his question of whether or not any of them were hurt. "I know everything about proper medical procedures, but without appropriate supplies, I'm limited in that aspect." Mercer grasped the man's arm to take a closer look the the wound as he closely examined it, applying just enough pressure to staunch most of the flow.

"Hmm... went right through. No damage to any vital arteries or bone. High-caliber from the looks of it, but nothing too severe. Given your physical condition, it'll heal within a matter of weeks properly treated. We need to get some supplies as soon as possible." Mercer told him as the two stood up and made their way over to the chef and sniper. He glanced over at the man as he introduced himself as Geralt of Rivia. Mercer contemplated whether or not he should tell them, but eventually decided that he had nothing to hide.

"Alex Mercer." He stated simply.
 
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Pink Guy figured that was the end of that once the German dude gave his monologue.
"中出し、中出し、中出し、大好き" ("Miss me with that gay shit.") The Lycran turned right round, only to bump into one of his unorthodox allies - a glowing blue dude.

"oohAHahhhhhhhhhhhhh" ("Oh- apologies, my friend. still, I want to say that I appreciated your assistance.") Pink Guy thanked his ally in a profoundly orgasmic manner.

Rhysie Rhysie
 
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widowmaker | amelié lacroix









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    Amelie let out a sound of bewilderment and discontent as she was knocked back. She expected her purple rump to hit the rigid platform, but ceased mid-fall. The robot quickly and somehow gently caught her wrist, as well as her beloved rifle. "Êtes-vous d'accord, mademoiselle?"
    Surprise struck her once more, eyes widened slightly. In that moment, she appeared vulnerable and well.. more human-like.. And she was uncomfortable with it. Widowmaker was used to taking the punch and fall, not for someone to catch her.
    "Ah- Oui." She snapped out of her momentary daze, hardening her expression once more.
    "Quoi qu'il en soit, prêt à-(Anyways, ready to-)" Amelie replied hastily, but then paused. A poem of familiarity began to smoothly confabulate from what would be the mouth of CHEF, leaving Widowmaker to stare up at the robot.
    "That's.. a very old poem." The French woman noted once he had lifted her. "World War... Two or One?" She queried. "It was almost as big and disastrous as the Omnic Crisis." She added, putting her rifle on her back and beginning to descend the stairs. "De toute façon, euh, merci (Anyways, uh, thank you.)" Amelie added in a lower tone, clearing her throat a bit.

    Bang.

    Widowmaker swiveled around with knitted eyebrows, surveying the group. She automatically pulled out her rifle, quickening her pace towards the group as she noticed Frank disarm a new man in orange. Amelie cast a glare to the newcomer, before looking back at Geralt.
    Scarlet was dripping from the bullet wound that the stranger had caused, now reddening the makeshift gauze that Geralt had made. "That's definitely going to need medical attention." She murmured, Mercer entering the scene and taking over from there.

    Now, everyone was beginning to introduce one another, inwardly scowling at the thought but hey, these people sorta saved her.

    "...Geralt of Rivia"
    "Alex Mercer."

    Amelie parted her lips, but they went dry. Her face remained a blank slate as she stared ahead, her mind buzzing and ensuing chaos over that name. "Gerald.." The ex-ballerina whispered in a lamenting and breathless sort of way.
    Another flicker of emotion skipped across her gaze before she blinked it all away.

    "Ah. Just call me Widowmaker." She nodded, hoping that she didn't draw too much attention in those brief moments.

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blep said:
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widowmaker | amelié lacroix









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    Amelie let out a sound of bewilderment and discontent as she was knocked back. She expected her purple rump to hit the rigid platform, but ceased mid-fall. The robot quickly and somehow gently caught her wrist, as well as her beloved rifle. "Êtes-vous d'accord, mademoiselle?"
    Surprise struck her once more, eyes widened slightly. In that moment, she appeared vulnerable and well.. more human-like.. And she was uncomfortable with it. Widowmaker was used to taking the punch and fall, not for someone to catch her.
    "Ah- Oui." She snapped out of her momentary daze, hardening her expression once more.
    "Quoi qu'il en soit, prêt à-(Anyways, ready to-)" Amelie replied hastily, but then paused. A poem of familiarity began to smoothly confabulate from what would be the mouth of CHEF, leaving Widowmaker to stare up at the robot.
    "That's.. a very old poem." The French woman noted once he had lifted her. "World War... Two or One?" She queried. "It was almost as big and disastrous as the Omnic Crisis." She added, putting her rifle on her back and beginning to descend the stairs. "De toute façon, euh, merci (Anyways, uh, thank you.)" Amelie added in a lower tone, clearing her throat a bit.

    Bang.

    Widowmaker swiveled around with knitted eyebrows, surveying the group. She automatically pulled out her rifle, quickening her pace towards the group as she noticed Frank disarm a new man in orange. Amelie cast a glare to the newcomer, before looking back at Geralt.
    Scarlet was dripping from the bullet wound that the stranger had caused, now reddening the makeshift gauze that Geralt had made. "That's definitely going to need medical attention." She murmured, Mercer entering the scene and taking over from there.

    Now, everyone was beginning to introduce one another, inwardly scowling at the thought but hey, these people sorta saved her.

    "...Geralt of Rivia"
    "Alex Mercer."

    Amelie parted her lips, but they went dry. Her face remained a blank slate as she stared ahead, her mind buzzing and ensuing chaos over that name. "Gerald.." The ex-ballerina whispered in a lamenting and breathless sort of way.
    Another flicker of emotion skipped across her gaze before she blinked it all away.

    "Ah. Just call me Widowmaker." She nodded, hoping that she didn't draw too much attention in those brief moments.

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Click to expand...

Head swiveling between Geralt, Mercer and Widowmaker, it seemed the machine had been in something of a trance during his little poetry recital "Power restored to backup drives, primary drive corruption at 72%" he notes aloud. He found it odd that the french lady gave him such a peculiar look, along with the comments from Mercer, and then Amélié herself. He could only conclude that perhaps he had said something during his reboot process that had confused them.

As the others introduced themselves, the robot simply listened and made note of each person's face and name. When they were all finished, he added in a proud voice his own 'name'
"This unit is UES Unit #7426, Designation: CHEF. Assigned to the interstellar transport craft UES Search Light" he gives a happy chirp once again.

No later had he finished, before his legs collapsed from under him, leaving him laying, propped up on his arms on the catwalk, the sparking holes in the one leg having become somewhat notable "Merde" he says in a somewhat hushed tone, totally unprofessional. "This unit requires repairs. Please contact a qualified mechanic once Geralt's injuries have been properly tended to."

After a long moment of silence, the machine spoke up once more, something about him different from before "I could help cauterize the wound, if you can disinfect it, Mr. Mercer" he turns to face him, his arms trying to push himself up and into a sitting position to better see as he was talking.

uwupolice uwupolice Corrosion Corrosion BarrenThin2 BarrenThin2​
 
The witcher gave Alex a peculiar look. "Know everything about them, do you? Huh. That's something." The sarcasm was dripping from his voice, though it was at least half good natured. The other half was too preoccupied with having been shot to really dwell on pleasantries too long. "I know a way to close the wound entirely, but I'm too weak right now. Liable to get myself killed trying it." As they came back to the others, Geralt not-so-subtly inspected Widow and CHEF for wounds, or, in the golem's case, damage, practically walking a circle around them. His brow was furrowed with worry. "Can't be too sure. Shock and adrenaline can numb the pain receptors. Can make you miss something important." The woman seemed fine. His confidence in her was not misplaced. The golem, however brave he may be, had received serious damage, however.

When Geralt said his name, Widow seemed to freeze. For a moment, he thought she'd recognized the name. That wasn't too uncommon. Dandelion had made a small fortune more or less selling Geralt's story as poetry and music, though he often embellished it (especially his own importance). Then, she repeated the name, his heightened senses only just picking up the whisper, but... her pronunciation was off. Gerald. Jer-ald. Not Ghe-ralt. Her voice betrayed a certain grief, almost. He frowned at her for a few moments before deciding it would be something that would be better discussed in private, or not at all.

CHEF's collapse broke Geralt's train of thought, the White Wolf immediately moving to his side. Even still, CHEF was talking about helping the Witcher. His frown turned from one of worry to one of frustration. "I'll be fine. If you can't stand, you need the help more. I've walked off a lot worse." Indeed, the low-cut collar of his shirt revealed just a part of the veritable tapestry of scars that decorated his torso, but that didn't change that the statement was a blatant lie; Geralt had no idea how bad the wound was, not understanding the weapon, and he had no intention of telling the others that. "How do we fix you? Do we need a mage of some kind? Summoning magic is beyond me."

uwupolice uwupolice Corrosion Corrosion DapperDogman DapperDogman
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ALEX MERCER


  • Warehouse, 52 Northeast Grapevine Street

​
Mercer turned to Geralt, his expression blank and unreadable, though he clearly detected the sarcasm in his voice. "I don't blame you for doubting me. Many have." He tracked Geralt as he circled both the sniper and robot -- Widowmaker and CHEF, respectively. "She's fine," Mercer said, answering the white-haired man's words, that Widow may miss something due to shock and adrenaline. Alex had already run checks on the group following the fight using his viral senses. Her adrenaline levels were normal and she was experiencing no signs of shock, although she seemed to be deeply troubled, whispering the name 'Gerald' in a voice so low he would have missed it were it not for his enhanced senses after Geralt had introduced himself. Mercer noted the similarity, but didn't think too much of it. "Just a few bruises and minor scrapes."

That said, CHEF's declaration that he was assigned to an interstellar transport craft piqued Alex's interest. As far as he knew, humanity's dream of leaving Earth was still a distant fantasy that it likely not achieve in a very long time, and was only something that people could dream off. It was why so many science fiction settings had spacefaring humanity, because it was just that: fiction. But if CHEF came from a future of alternate universe where spaceflight and maybe even faster-than-light travel was possible, then he'd have to find out more.

Alex's attention was drawn to the sudden collapse of CHEF. Frowning, he made his way over to him. He inspected the damage on the robot's body, noting the bullet holes that revealed sparking and smoking circuitry on one of his legs. "I might be able to," Mercer said after a few more seconds of inspecting the damage. "But your systems, they're far more advanced than anything I've worked with before. But I'll try." He stood up and turned to the rest of the group.

They'd all be wounded in someway during the battle. CHEF's leg had been partially disabled by the cyborg and Geralt had been shot by the armoured man. While Alex looked perfectly fine, he had lost quite a bit of biomass during the battle, and he was really in the mood for a meal right now. The only exception was Widowmaker, who, as a sniper, had stayed a fair amount of distance away from most of the carnage. The melee and close range fighters like himself had taken most of the damage. Still, none of them had any life-threatening injuries. "We should get some supplies as soon as possible, as well as find some place to hunker down. With that said," Mercer motioned towards the exit. "Now how about we get the fuck out of here?"

DEPARTING TO: MILLENNIUM CITY GHETTOS​
 
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