Aldur
Memory Dealer
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Realistic or Modern ☠WETWØRKS☠ (OPEN)
- Thread starter Aldur
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Aldur
Memory Dealer
The air is stale, and the wind is flat. Beneath the din of gulls, the sea rising and falling can be heard, vast and monotonous. It lurches against the wasted, vacant beaches, dragging into its lazy tendrils years of refuse and abuse – spent needles and spent shells, spent condoms and spent hopes. Some nights, you can even find their owners washed up in the tide – little pieces of little people, intestines unwinding in the pale sunset.
Fucking Miami...
The setting sun drags a bloody streak across the sky: indigos to blues to fuchsias to ochres. In the alleys, flies drone monotonously over sputtering neon puddles. Garbage fills the gutters and dirty rainwater seeps down from the eaves, baptizing the city in shit. A storm had passed recently and the air is thick with a warm tropical dread. The night murmurs quietly to everyone, a solemn sultry song.
This time, it was a church. And not the usual kind of job. They've been sent to "investigate" people vanishing. It was obvious to Ethan, these fuckwits were building themselves a cross made entirely out of bones. He was leaning against his motorcycle with the little shotgun in his tight grip, backed up by black leather gloves. He refused to take his helmet off and instead signaled everyone to follow him into the church.
Inside, the greetings were brought by a pale pastor with creases on his face so deep that assuming he needed sleep was an enormous understatement. The light was dim, and the atmosphere was somber. A chandelier was hanging from the sky-like ceiling, but something was off. A droplet of blood fell from it and tainted Ethan's black helmet. And with it, came the foul smell of cadavers that recently began the process of putrefaction. Their bellies were cut right open, guts waiting to drench someone in half-digested food.
While Ethan was looking away, the pastor lunged forward with a crude shiv, stabbing his left arm. A loud bang turned the pastor's head into a Rorschach of red mush, mixed in with chunks of bone before the old man's body fell lifeless to the ground. Ethan grabbed the shiv and pulled it out with a loud groan. The shotgun blast brought around 5 more cultists into the main hall. All of them armed with blunt weapons and knives.
The helmeted agent pumped the next shell into the barrel of his shotgun before yelling "Look alive, Birds of Prey!" at the top of his lungs.
@Caru @simj22 @gogojojo331 @Sizniche @Scribbler
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B E E S
Protect Them
Judith Grey
<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2016_05/non_4_blondes_by_fukari-d7xwjbn.jpg.427cf52a815382c547223ef8ac677f04.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="122695" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2016_05/non_4_blondes_by_fukari-d7xwjbn.jpg.427cf52a815382c547223ef8ac677f04.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p> Judith grimaces at the scene before her. She's glad she can't smell the blood through her mask, and pities her teammates who can. She feels a sense of dread as she stares at the cultists. The place has a horribly gloomy feel to it, and she wonders how people could be stupid enough to actually join something like this. Part of her wonders if satanists are the ones running the show, although another part makes her wonder if she really wants to know. As she waits for Ethan her patience runs thin, and Judith hates waiting above all else. She fights the urge to drum against her crowbar simply because she knows that she'll alert the cultists with the noise. The blood and gore before her isn't alarming to her, although it certainly unsettles them. She waits for some kind of signal, and when she hears the sound of Ethan's shotgun a smile grows on her face.
"Finally." she says, before leaping out from her hiding spot.
Judith makes a run towards Ethan, but is stopped by three cultists. She swings her crowbar in a very calculated move and hits the first man upside the head, causing him to fall. The next two charge at her, and while Judith works to fight them off, she is not completely successful, and bites back a scream as she feels a knife cut her left arm rather deeply. Judith quickly retaliates, biting back any tears, and slams her head into his nose, causing him to instinctively grab his nose. She then swings her crowbar right at his balls and grins at the satisfying groan he makes as he falls to the ground. The next man lunges at her once more, and Judith hardly avoids his knife, grazing her stomach. She makes quick work of hitting him on the head, and then continues to run towards Ethan.
"Oi! Watch your back!" she exclaims, pointing to someone sneaking up behind him.
Tagging: @Aldur
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simj26
Awful, Terrible, No-good Layabout
Samantha Love
A church, of all places. She chewed on what remained of her lollipop, repositioning it in her mouth every now and then as she surveyed her surroundings. Matthew 7:15, Beware of false prophets, They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly, they are ravenous wolves. And what did the good shepherds do with wolves that pester their flock of sheep? If they had been gifted with the gift of raining hellfire in the form of a hundred .45 calibre bullets, Samantha-Elisha Love wouldn’t have been surprised if they chose to wield it against the predators of their meek sheep. She rolled the stick into her mouth and spat it aside, and placed her porcelain mask over her face when she saw the leading man of their sideshow straighten up from his bike. She swung her gun lazily with one hand onto her shoulder and let the other agents take point. It stood to reason to her that with her weapon being the longest ranged weapon in the team, she would take the rear-guard to dispatch of the trash they left too far ahead of the rest.
When the door opened, Samantha could smell the foul air even from behind the mask. The copper taste was unmistakable. That stench was far too familiar for her to forget. It was flesh and blood, in the least poetic sense of the phrase. How disgusting. To kill was one thing. To besmirch the consecrated land of God was another. She raised her gun as soon as she saw the pastor standing ahead of her. She uttered a curse when their leader’s head blocked her aim. Her missed opportunity earned her leader and the other girl in their group their wounds. She counted two more heads amongst the remaining hostiles that had not been occupied with the gal. She brushed aside the lady in the gas mask, raised her gun, and squeezed off a hail of bullets towards the hostile that had thought it wise to creep up on their leader. With one fluid motion, she swept up beside the man, now probably dead by the bullets in his spine, and threw him onto the floor, before releasing three more catridges into his skull. She took another aim at the last remaining hostile and released yet another thunderous rain of bullets, tracking his movements. He barely made another five more steps before he crumpled onto the ground, one of the many .45 bullets having lodged into his neck. His gurgling soon filled her ringing ears.
“Clear.” She slid up behind her leader, surveying the surroundings behind him, trusting that he would keep his eyes ahead for them.
A church, of all places. She chewed on what remained of her lollipop, repositioning it in her mouth every now and then as she surveyed her surroundings. Matthew 7:15, Beware of false prophets, They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly, they are ravenous wolves. And what did the good shepherds do with wolves that pester their flock of sheep? If they had been gifted with the gift of raining hellfire in the form of a hundred .45 calibre bullets, Samantha-Elisha Love wouldn’t have been surprised if they chose to wield it against the predators of their meek sheep. She rolled the stick into her mouth and spat it aside, and placed her porcelain mask over her face when she saw the leading man of their sideshow straighten up from his bike. She swung her gun lazily with one hand onto her shoulder and let the other agents take point. It stood to reason to her that with her weapon being the longest ranged weapon in the team, she would take the rear-guard to dispatch of the trash they left too far ahead of the rest.
When the door opened, Samantha could smell the foul air even from behind the mask. The copper taste was unmistakable. That stench was far too familiar for her to forget. It was flesh and blood, in the least poetic sense of the phrase. How disgusting. To kill was one thing. To besmirch the consecrated land of God was another. She raised her gun as soon as she saw the pastor standing ahead of her. She uttered a curse when their leader’s head blocked her aim. Her missed opportunity earned her leader and the other girl in their group their wounds. She counted two more heads amongst the remaining hostiles that had not been occupied with the gal. She brushed aside the lady in the gas mask, raised her gun, and squeezed off a hail of bullets towards the hostile that had thought it wise to creep up on their leader. With one fluid motion, she swept up beside the man, now probably dead by the bullets in his spine, and threw him onto the floor, before releasing three more catridges into his skull. She took another aim at the last remaining hostile and released yet another thunderous rain of bullets, tracking his movements. He barely made another five more steps before he crumpled onto the ground, one of the many .45 bullets having lodged into his neck. His gurgling soon filled her ringing ears.
“Clear.” She slid up behind her leader, surveying the surroundings behind him, trusting that he would keep his eyes ahead for them.
Aldur
Memory Dealer
Adrenaline levels had risen and made Ethan think about how much blood he was going to spill in the next moments. He grabbed the shotgun's pump in his left hand and literally shook his pain away as he let in the next shell. The metal clicking and cocking satisfied the helmeted man and he remembered why he loved the little shotgun so much.
3 more. That's how many shells he had left in the lower barrel. Enough to make other fools who believed in false gods meet them. Ethan had long given away the idea of an omniscient being floating around "watching" over everyone, making sure they had it well. It was just plain crazy, being flapped about to make one feel better in this upside down world.
He turned around instantly as Judith bellowed for his attention, but even so he was late. His aggressor was pushing up daisies with the rest of them, lying dead in a pool of cold crimson life juice. Guilty of possession of lead... in his neck.
"What would I do without you watching my back, eh?" The sentence ended with a cocky chuckle. Sam was especially good to have around. And a great buddy. Ethan changed shifted his helmeted gaze towards Judith who looked worse than one of the corpses hanging from the chandelier.
"Sam, cover me, will you?" He lowered his head and gently touched Judith's shoulder. "Shit..." Ethan looked around frantically for any piece of cloth but he settled for a piece of his own shirt. It was a new one as well. The girl was bleeding. He wrapped the makeshift bandage tightly around the wound in hopes of stopping the blood from pouring out and turning her skin pale. Though that was the least of her worries.
As he was busy putting up the field medic act, more goons came around and one took cover behind the altar. They were three men, dressed in arguably average clothing, one of them carried a .38 revolver, the one who was hiding. The rest held an axe and a baseball bat respectively. A bullet whizzed 1 foot away from Samantha. The man didn't have a good aim, but the revolver was fully loaded. The three of them yelled that every agent in the room were deceivers and tyrants. This made Ethan waste a buckshot leveling a small part of the altar.
B E E S
Protect Them
Judith Grey
She decides that it may be best to stick with Ethan, as he has a gun, so she quickly jogs up towards him but jumps back at the sound of his gun.
"Jesus." she murmurs.
The smell of blood is starting to seep through Judith's mask, and she grimaces.
"What can I do to make this run more smoothly, boss?" she asks, keeping an eye on anyone who would want to sneak up behind him.
She finds the cultists to be rather pathetic, but unfortunately quite a match for her. She really needs to learn a better fighting style, as it seems that her usual street styles. She supposes once she recovers, some lessons would be in order.
Tagging: @Aldur
kianainactive1234
deleted/inactive
Anastasia sat upon the sleek motorcycle, absentmindedly running a hand through her auburn locks, ruffling them gently as she stared out into the semi-busy marketplace. Quite the packed little setup for a... She couldn't quite remember the day. Along with this misplacement of her memory, she couldn't quite put a finger on what that quaint little market sold. Anastasia decided that it sold produce, because she couldn't be bothered to stick around. Kicking the silver bike into the life, she slapped the handles before clicking her earbuds, sending the music pumping into her ears. Looking behind herself, Anastasia pulled out into the street, gunning the engine and shifting into high gear. Shooting down the half-empty street, Anastasia smiled as the balmy Miami air whipped her hair behind her, the smell of the sea reaching her nose.
The beige pack on her back was secured to her body tightly, bumping here and there as she coasted over small chips in the cracking asphalt. Cars and buildings passed, each one just an insignificant blur of color as she shot by, racing like a bullet from a gun. God damn, how she lived Miami. Yes - There were gangs, and yes - crime was somewhat 'rampant' still, but it didn't stop her from enjoying the thrill of a gal on her bike.
Just as she slowed to a halt at a red light, because, hey, even over-energetic girls obey the law; She could have sworn she heard gunshots peppering the air in the distance to her right, stabbing through the beat of her music like a headache. Slowly easing the bike into the turn lane next to her, she ripped her earbuds out and tentatively turned down onto the street which seemed to lead to the source of the disturbance. Inching the bike forwards down the stretch of gray road, she heard it again, this time it sounded like numerous rounds. Lifting her right foot back up onto the bike from where she had eased it down the road, Anastasia travelled quietly until she assumed she was a block away from the gunfire. Then she recognized that patterning, the way the bullets stopped and started. Sounded like a standard BoP mission. Just as she halted, a Ford whipped past her towards the gunfire, and a grin cracked her lips. Flashy Bastard, she thought, before squealing the tires and shooting after him.
Skidding to a halt beside the old car, Anastasia pulled two things from her large beige duffel. One being a heavy 9 Iron Golf Club, the other being a delicately designed mask. Slipping it over her head, she fastened it tightly, and followed her colleague inside.
The beige pack on her back was secured to her body tightly, bumping here and there as she coasted over small chips in the cracking asphalt. Cars and buildings passed, each one just an insignificant blur of color as she shot by, racing like a bullet from a gun. God damn, how she lived Miami. Yes - There were gangs, and yes - crime was somewhat 'rampant' still, but it didn't stop her from enjoying the thrill of a gal on her bike.
Just as she slowed to a halt at a red light, because, hey, even over-energetic girls obey the law; She could have sworn she heard gunshots peppering the air in the distance to her right, stabbing through the beat of her music like a headache. Slowly easing the bike into the turn lane next to her, she ripped her earbuds out and tentatively turned down onto the street which seemed to lead to the source of the disturbance. Inching the bike forwards down the stretch of gray road, she heard it again, this time it sounded like numerous rounds. Lifting her right foot back up onto the bike from where she had eased it down the road, Anastasia travelled quietly until she assumed she was a block away from the gunfire. Then she recognized that patterning, the way the bullets stopped and started. Sounded like a standard BoP mission. Just as she halted, a Ford whipped past her towards the gunfire, and a grin cracked her lips. Flashy Bastard, she thought, before squealing the tires and shooting after him.
Skidding to a halt beside the old car, Anastasia pulled two things from her large beige duffel. One being a heavy 9 Iron Golf Club, the other being a delicately designed mask. Slipping it over her head, she fastened it tightly, and followed her colleague inside.
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Sizniche
This profile is no longer in use
Arthur had to admit; he was a lot of things, but he was horrible at being punctual. The Birds of Prey tend to be fairly lenient on how group outings are done; they're more concerned about whether it gets done or not. However, it's usually expected that you show up before the bullets start flying. That time passed a good five minutes ago. Arthur zips past a woman on a motorcycle in his 1969 Ford Mach 1, easily punching a good 120 on the speedometer. It's a shame I can't stop right now, too, Arthur thought, She's probably 20 years younger than me, but damn was she fine.
Arthur pulls into an alley, parking behind the church. He hastily puts on his mask and pulls his knife out of his suit jacket. He hears a motorcycle engine behind him, and turns around to see the girl. Huh, attractive AND my coworker. I can get used to this. He kicks in the back door, the smell of rotting flesh hitting him immediately. He staggers back, and even pukes in his mouth slightly. Bloody hell, I can see why Judith picked the gas mask. He starts breathing through his mouth, creating an ominous echo in his mask of his breathing.
A cultist lingering in the back room turns towards Arthur when he walks through the door. By lingering, of course, I mean he was butchering a body. The cultist lifted his arm to throw the meat knife he was using, but Arthur struck first with a blow to the nose with the knuckles on his knife and a stab to the trachea to finish the job.
Arthur rushes out of the back room of the church into the chancel behind the altar, immediately into the sight of the gunman there. He takes aim for Arthur, and Arthur throws his knife at him. The gunman dives to dodge the knife, but in doing so dives out from behind the altar. The gunman fires at Arthur, but Arthur dives back into the back room door yelling, "Ethan, now!"
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Aldur
Memory Dealer
Ethan ducked. The sound from the .38 resonated strongly in the hall. Not quite as strongly as his buckshot. "Just stay back and don't be an easy target, bub."
He bolted from his position and leaped in for a punch on one of the other guys coming at them with a claw hammer. As soon as he did, he heard a familiar voice coming from behind the altar. Ethan fought back the force of his own clenched fist to turn his head, and after that his body towards the now exposed gunman. He took aim and let his right arm feel all the recoil after pulling the trigger. The complete left side of the gunman's torso had been obliterated, a shocked look upon his face and eyes wide open, looking directly at Arthur's.
Ethan cocked back the pump once again and pointed it toward the attacker he punched earlier, who was just getting up from the ground, visibly disoriented from the mean punch he received. A blank stare was given to Ethan as the man tried to regain his balance, failing to do so, as a fourth and last loud bang roared through the church. It blasted the poor sod to bits. His upper torso was barely recognizable for what it was. Ethan breathed in through his nose violently before coughing up a breathy laughter.
"Took you long enough, young man. Hah!" Ethan teased. He rose both of his arms and dropped the shotgun, as it was now empty. He kicked it across the floor behind one of the benches in the close vicinity. He brought his hands together and cracked his knuckles before turning around acting all fresh as if his left arm was completely healed.
"NEXT ROOM, FOLKS! Judith! Stay behind and watch your six, we're advancing." he shouted. "Arthur! Didn't happen to see Brock or Ana yet, have you? No worries, we can handle this!" he continued, as he paced towards the stairs leading to the basement. He turned around for a brief moment and continued "My friends! The time has come that we delved into Hell's darkest pits!" He kicked down the door and threw his arm forward to signal everyone to follow him.
"Let there be light or some shit..."
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B E E S
Protect Them
Judith Grey
She's glad to be able to come along, but still keep a more defensive position. The wounds she sustained would've made her even more of a burden to everyone else. Plus her chances of surviving any more hits wouldn't be in her favour.
"I'll follow behind you." she says to Ethan, gripping her crowbar tightly in her right hand. Her eyes wander towards the other members, and she feels a tinge of embarrassment because of how beaten up she looks in comparison. She really needs to learn how to fight properly, or else she won't survive another day working the job. It's a harsh truth for Judith to digest, knowing she isn't the best at this, although she'll learn, she always does. For now though, Judith is going to work hard at being the best backup she can be, to prove her worth here. She can fight through the physical pains, and keep on the ball.
The only thing that is annoying Judith right now is how sticky she is. Breaking a sweat is an understatement, and all she wants to do after this is to take a shower and then grab a burger. Her shoes are covered in blood as well, and the cuts she received are starting to cake with it. Being dirty is something Judith isn't a big fan of, so this is going to be a real test on her patience considering how gross she currently feels, although she tries not to show is, as she doesn't need people to see her as anymore of a weakness than she already is currently.
Tagging: @Aldur
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Carl
Not A Llama...
Dmitri Thobalt
He was late, at least 5 minutes, a triviality to most people. But Dmitri, nor the Birds of Prey, weren't anything like 'most people'. In those 5 minutes they could have been ambushed, defeated, slaughtered...And he would feel less of a sting than if he had been bitten by a mosquito. But still, it was for the greater good that they survived. As he ran at a fairly fast pace with a backpack thrown over his right shoulder, his mind raced. Not about the What Ifs and What Could Be's...But about what to do to make this mission a success.
As he arrived at the meeting point, all he saw were some cars and bikes, but no signs of life. They must've gone and proceeded with the job without him. After emptying his backpack and gliding the silenced pistol under the belt on his left side, to avoid any unneeded sideshows from people passing by, he bowed his head and calmly walked into the church, hands crossed over one another and with signs of deep sadness and remorse on his face. As if he'd simply seeked a place to pray and repent at, being a church and all, it was only natural for him to come in without even knocking.
But as soon as he saw the slaughter that had gone on within the sacred walls of the Church, he dropped his act and whipped out his pistol as he scanned the room. Some robed people were killed, some were merely knocked out. He shook his head slightly at the sloppyness of his comrades-in-arms. There was even one danger to the system still conscious...Dmitri walked over to him, the man was holding his groin and coughing up blood as his eyes franticly scanned for any sympathy in Dmitri's cold stare.
"Please...Don't..."
"Shhh, don't worry, I won't hurt you." Dmitri kneeled on one knee next to the man and seemed to inspect him for any wounds.
"Oh, thank God!!"
"How many raiders and how many monks are still in the building? I can help."
"......I saw a handful of attackers and there are still a lot of...us...in the church. Please save my brothers. Please!"
"Is there anything important I should know?"
"....There's a switch in the bell tower, flip it to...call for help."
"Thanks, now it's time to rest."
Dmitri grabbed the man's hooded piece of the robe and placed it slowly over his face while raising his silenced pistol. As soon as the man had realized what was going on, he tried to scream and struggle. Two muffled plops echo'd through the large aucoustic room...followed by a morbid silence.
kianainactive1234
deleted/inactive
Christ almighty. There sure had been enough of those cult-y assholes hanging around, and Anastasia was fairly certain she didn't want to stick around as she plunged into the depths of the building, tailing Judith and Ethan. When she had arrived, Ana followed Arthur into the building, and was met with a very grisly scene. Blood splattered the walls, and bullets peppered the benches and altar, filling the air with a tang of iron. Scrunching up her nose, Ana had tee'd up and swung with the 9 Iron, swiftly ending the lives of two unconscious cult members, each with their own respective sickening crack of metal on bone. At least.. She thought they were unconscious when she reached them. She was quite new to this job.
After, she had circled the area once, running a gloved hand over the sturdy wood of the benches, testing a foot on the pedestals on which these sick fucks knelt and prayed to their bastard God. Ana would have spit in disgust, but decided that leaving any more DNA at the site would not only get her ass handed to her on a silver platter by the higher ups of the BoP's, but not reflect well on her... 'Work Ethic.' Even if technology hadn't moved forwards in many many years, Ana couldn't help but be careful. Lifting her head at the sound of Ethan's voice echoing around the high ceiling, Anastasia trotted after him and Judith merrily, her curls bouncing gently with each step. Twirling the golf club absentmindedly, Anastasia shot a wicked grin in the direction of Arthur, before gesturing to the stairs down which Ethan and Judith had begun their descent into the reeking pits of this scum-infested building, herself already standing on the second step. "Care to accompany a new recruit, old timer?" Her eyes were alight with mirth, despite the gore around her. Anastasia quite liked working with the Birds of Prey already. Then, she paused.
Another member strolled in, though Anastasia couldn't place his name. Backtracking, she edged out of the stairwell and watched his exchange with the dying cultist, and absentmindedly waved Arthur on. "I'll catch up with you later.."
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Sizniche
This profile is no longer in use
Arthur sighed impatiently as he goes to recollect his trench knife. He hated comments about his age, even ones that weren't intended to be rude, such as Ethan ironically referring to him as 'young man' or Anastasia calling him 'old timer'. He put up with it, though, because these were people he had to work with, and he doesn't want to ruin working relations just because he said something to someone about not talking about his age. Besides, he'd heard stories of D.C. Birds of Prey agents during the attacks on the government in the late 80's who'd snap if you so much as disagreed with them on the kill count for the day. Of course,none of the group seemed like that kind of person, but you can never be too sure with these people.
Arthur turned to Anastasia to respond to her comment. "If you're looking to get tips on the job, talk to Ethan. I've probably haven't been at this job much longer than you have." Arthur then began to go with the rest of the group down the stairs when he turned and noticed... him.
Dmitri fucking Thobalt. Arthur could tell you a million things he thought about this guy, and he'd still be barely down a third of the list of his thoughts. Out of fear of what would happen to him, though, Arthur wouldn't say a thing to Dmitri's face. After all, Dmitri is one of the best agents Birds of Prey has to offer.
Here's how Arthur would probably summarize his thoughts about Dmitri. When he looks at the group, he doesn't think of them as insane. The Zodiac Killer was insane. Ted Bundy was sure as hell insane. We are just desensitized; this is our lifestyle. For everyone except Arthur, it had always been their lifestyle. Dmitri, though... well, Dmitri could sure as hell put on the act to not seem entirely insane. Arthur looks at Dmitri and sees something that resembles the science-fiction androids from movies in his childhood, replicating emotion without truly having it, operating on pure logic. Though Dmitri has actually done Arthur no wrong, and hasn't done anything else besides his job to convince Arthur that he was insane, it doesn't stop Arthur from staying as far away from Dmitri as physically possible.
Arthur shakes off the weird, unsettling feeling he gets every time he sees Dmitri and descends down the stairs, making sure to take a swig out of the moonshine flask he always carries for good measure, putting it back in his suit jacket after he's done.
Aldur
Memory Dealer
The smell only got worse as the group descended into the basement. They were met with no opposition going down the stairs, just silence. There was a trail of blood on each step. Taunting the sanity of everyone in the group was a stray scream coming from a dimly lit hallway. There were a few flickering lightbulbs along with an array of candles lining up the walls.
On the left side, about 10 feet from where Ethan was standing, a door opened and out of the room came a pastor, wearing a bloody apron over his usual attire. He stumbled backward before giving everyone a look of despair. Extreme wrinkles, on a fairly young face. He held a hand to his throat trying to stop the stream of blood coming from it. Opening his mouth, the priest looked as if he wanted to plea for help, but nothing came out, just humid air.
The young pastor then recoiled, realizing that none of the people he looked at were acolytes of his. At this point, Ethan started pacing forward. He stopped inches away from the cleric's head. The man on the floor brought both of his hands together, his lips starting a hushed prayer before his brains became one with Ethan's shoe in a gory mixture of cranial debris, frontal lobe, and rough out leather.
"GET ME DOWN!"
A call for help echoed from inside the room. A feminine voice, in contrast with the scream from earlier which now could've only originated from the faceless corpse lying in the hallway.
A lithe figure, hanging down from the ceiling, covered in blood and holding a kitchen knife was waving its hands towards Ethan. Upon a closer inspection, the helmeted man brought a hand to his visor and fixed it up.
"Fuck me sideways...Christine?" Ethan stated, confused. He hurried to the woman helped her catch onto his shoulder before untying her legs. Covered in blood and barely able to walk properly, she could only reply with "Ethan?" and hold onto him.
@Caru @Kiana3746 @Sizniche
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B E E S
Protect Them
Judith Grey
As they enter the basement, Judith fights back the urge to gag. The smell is far worse, and the heat only adds to it. Each step she takes is met with the squelch of blood on her shoes, lucky for her they're not new. The basement is a large contrast to the upstairs. This place is dead quiet, and smaller. One thing Judith really fucking hates is small spaces. It makes her feel like she's being slowly suffocated. Suddenly her mask feels too small and she breaks into a cold sweat. She really wants to take off her mask and go for a drink. Anything to get her out of this place.
Judith watches the man choke on his own blood with a look of satisfaction. She feels a little disappointed when Ethan ends him, as it was a bit of a waste of time, and entertainment. She raises an eyebrow at the sound of a woman demanding to be let down. She wonders if this is their mission. To help her? When he sees Ethan take off his mask, Judith feels... confused. Why's he doing that?
"Fuck me sideways...Christine?" he says.
Judith is now very interested. The pair clearly know each other, and now she wonders how. She stays quiet and instead searches for some sort of supplies to help with her wounds.
"Anything I can do to help?" she asks Ethan, "Also, mind if I take off this fucking mask?"
she holds her crowbar tightly in her hand, and waits for a reply.
Tagging: @Aldur
simj26
Awful, Terrible, No-good Layabout
Samantha Love
The taste of rust came at the same time as the smell. Where it was thinly spread enough to ignore in the upper levels, it was cloying in the dungeons below. She unconsciously slipped back into her rookie days, her finger touching the trigger, before she realised her folly, and shifted it back to the trigger-guard. She never doubted that her country would have a den of evil so pungent, but seeing it up close was an experience she would have been glad to live without. She had shot and killed, slit throats, and stabbed people to death, but none of that prepared her for the stench that overflowed from this place.
Keeping one hand on her gun, she crossed herself with the other. “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be thy name…” she muttered under her breath. The Lord knows she does it in His name, to cleanse this land from the unworthy. May His light protect her from whatever fiends lurk within this section of hell.
Samantha heard the sound of a door opening, and she turned, slightly, to catch Ethan giving yet another of the sinners a case of boot to the head, before resuming her watch at the rear. Nothing interesting of note except dark, dank tunnels. She followed behind the rest as they piled into the room, Ethan having expressed some interest with its contents. Also none of her concern. He did what he wanted, she kept him alive while he did. That’s all she ever did in this job.
She can’t, however, but help offering one snarky remark. “Congratulations, your princess is in this castle. Mind if we make haste to the exit, our knight in shining armor?”
The girl next to her, Judith, she heard her name, thought to take off her mask. Samantha pondered on whether she should act, weighing the options of inaction and action, before she placed one hand on the lass’s shoulder, shaking her head. “No witnesses. ” was all she said, before returning back to her position by the rear of the group, just at the door. It wasn't a matter of witnessing them kill people, it was the matter of anyone seeing their faces. The filly in Ethan’s arms was probably an old flame or something. He knew her. The rest didn't, though, and any probability, no matter how small, must be eradicated. Ethan can trust her not to tell on him, but what of the rest? Could they?
She shook her thoughts out of her mind and kept her eyes on the tunnels. trying to peer past the darkness that the candles failed to illuminate properly.
The taste of rust came at the same time as the smell. Where it was thinly spread enough to ignore in the upper levels, it was cloying in the dungeons below. She unconsciously slipped back into her rookie days, her finger touching the trigger, before she realised her folly, and shifted it back to the trigger-guard. She never doubted that her country would have a den of evil so pungent, but seeing it up close was an experience she would have been glad to live without. She had shot and killed, slit throats, and stabbed people to death, but none of that prepared her for the stench that overflowed from this place.
Keeping one hand on her gun, she crossed herself with the other. “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be thy name…” she muttered under her breath. The Lord knows she does it in His name, to cleanse this land from the unworthy. May His light protect her from whatever fiends lurk within this section of hell.
Samantha heard the sound of a door opening, and she turned, slightly, to catch Ethan giving yet another of the sinners a case of boot to the head, before resuming her watch at the rear. Nothing interesting of note except dark, dank tunnels. She followed behind the rest as they piled into the room, Ethan having expressed some interest with its contents. Also none of her concern. He did what he wanted, she kept him alive while he did. That’s all she ever did in this job.
She can’t, however, but help offering one snarky remark. “Congratulations, your princess is in this castle. Mind if we make haste to the exit, our knight in shining armor?”
The girl next to her, Judith, she heard her name, thought to take off her mask. Samantha pondered on whether she should act, weighing the options of inaction and action, before she placed one hand on the lass’s shoulder, shaking her head. “No witnesses. ” was all she said, before returning back to her position by the rear of the group, just at the door. It wasn't a matter of witnessing them kill people, it was the matter of anyone seeing their faces. The filly in Ethan’s arms was probably an old flame or something. He knew her. The rest didn't, though, and any probability, no matter how small, must be eradicated. Ethan can trust her not to tell on him, but what of the rest? Could they?
She shook her thoughts out of her mind and kept her eyes on the tunnels. trying to peer past the darkness that the candles failed to illuminate properly.
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Aldur
Memory Dealer
The night was nearing, stars longing impatiently to fully reclaim their place in the sky, even for just one night. And then again. The group had "completed" their assignment. Christine, who was later revealed to have been an agent, shook off her dizziness and demanded she is left at her own apartment for the night. Ethan proposed that everyone met back at Scot and Rick's Bar. Pretty popular among BoP "representatives".
After a 15 minute ride with the bike through the neon filled streets of Miami, Ethan had left Christine off with an awkward hug as she leaned in for something more. The black, glossy helmet found its place on Ethan's head once more. He waved at Christine for one last time for the night, before heading back for Rick and Scot's. Ethan took in the night drive and it took his mind off of everything. There were only him, the motorcycle and the road. A completing, deep feeling engulfed him in a state of utter relaxation.
And suddenly, he was in front of the bar. Bike parked and helmet in his hands. Once inside, Ethan left his helmet on the counter gave a nod to Rick. "Hey, Rick. I need..." and he starts counting his fingers "...5 beers for now. I reckon some of my friends will be here real soon."
The man behind the counter, dressed in a pair of black slackers and a short-sleeved striped shirt, nodded with a smile on his face. "5 beers coming right up... Ay, Scot! Bring out the good stuff. Ethan's here!"
Quickly, Ethan took off his leather gloves and placed them in his back pocket.
"Off from a job?" asked Rick.
@Caru @simj22 @Sizniche
B E E S
Protect Them
Judith Grey
Beaten up was an understatement. Judith looked like complete and utter shit. Her hair was a mess, large bandages covered her body, and she'd never been in more pain in her life. It was awesome. Judith wears a long, loose black dress that flows in the wind, along with her usual leather jacket and converse. A large backpack is slung loosely around her back, inside is some money and a change of clothes incase she has to make a quick get away. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she's enjoying herself a fair deal. She holds her crowbar lightly in her right hand, and admires the expensive watch, a gift of sorts. The walk to the bar is a long one, and it's in times like this that she wishes her motorcycle would fix itself. But alas things are never so easy for the poor girl so she makes due with what she has, which is in her case her own two feet.
The smell of the road is one that Judith likes, and the way the breeze tickles her nose makes her smile. She's glad to be alive, and excited to be celebrating with alcohol. As she walks she passes by a stray dog, and ends up feeding the little thing some food. The poor creature is missing the top of his left ear, and his dark brown fur is matted. Judith feels quite a bit of sympathy for the dog, although she knows she can't afford to keep him, so she instead pulls out her film camera and takes a picture of him, deciding that if she does ever find him again she'll adopt him. Once the picture is taken, she puts the camera back in her bag and continues on her way.
Soon she sees Scot and Rick's Bar, and a wave of excitement flows through her once more. The moment she enters the bar the smell of booze and people fills her nose and Judith suddenly feels right at home. Everything about her situation feels well... right, and despite the burning pains along her body Judith is in a very good mood. She looks around to see if anyone else showed up, and lo and behold she finds Ethan and several beers around him. She makes her way towards him and sits down. She sees him talking to a man, and decides it would be best to simply grab a beer and enjoy, and boy does she enjoy it. She doesn't realize how hot she is until the cool liquid touches her lips, making Judith a very happy camper indeed.
On a last minute decision she decides to let Ethan at least know she's here by politely tapping him lightly on the shoulder before turning to face forward again, swinging her feet on the too-tall bar stool.
Tagging: @Aldur
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Swoob
listen here bucko
w ◊ h ◊ y
"What's up, Miami?" a voice bellowed from beyond the city line, echoing through the rotting alleys. Grinning wildly, Wendel took off his sunglasses and gazed at the night sky. The stars reflected the city, a chorus of lights blending together and singing brightly of the beauty of the world, the joy of life.
Annoying.
"So fucking annoying!" the man next to him shouted from his car. "Get off the fucking highway!" The din of horns augmented and made his ears throb. Wendel ignored him and continued staring at the buildings of Miami. Breathing in the fresh, salty air, he felt something small and long-dead in the pit of his stomach begin to stir again. Faintly, he could hear the man grumble, "Fuck, I don't have time for this," followed by a sudden ignition.
His head whipped to the right and he saw the front of the car rocketing towards him, fangs bared and wheels churning enticingly. His heartbeat quickened in excitement as the metal maw of the car closed in. His breath shortened. It filled his vision. The wheels clawed towards him. Then, feeling a twinge in his brain, Wendel shot to the left, barreling away from the death machine. The jagged rocks of the asphalt dug into his hands and knees as he gasped. When he glanced over at the horizon, it was already far away, dead to him, along with whatever feeling he had. He meandered back across the now-moving highway to retrieve his beach ball, the residue of frustration sloshing around inside him.
He continued.
Rick and Scot's Bar. He sacrificed the time of nearly ten city dwellers to get to his destination, which, in turn, almost cost him a limb, given his taunting appearance. From his wandering, however, he journeyed through the city and familiarized himself with his surroundings. Miami at night was possibly the best place he had ever seen. The dissonant mixtures of loud neons and crude imagery bathed everything in a sort of visual bile as if the whole city had been puked upon—and the depravity and poverty he had already seen didn't disprove this possibility. Mud and gurgling trash spattered the corners and walls of buildings. As he peered into alleys and backwater streets swallowed by darkness, people of all shapes, emaciated and torn, lay unmoving or staring with Death's eyes. He couldn't tell who was alive and who was dead. He was going to fit right in.
Miami, Florida. At the core of his being, he felt a strange tension, like a dark storm was creeping over the edge of his future. He knew he was going to spend a long time here. Perhaps he would be able to find something in this depraved city. Perhaps he could finally die.
Kicking the door open, Wendel galloped brazenly into Rick and Scot's Bar, hugging his beach ball under his armpit and letting his sunglasses slide back down onto his nose. "Yo! Where's Ethan Savage?"
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simj26
Awful, Terrible, No-good Layabout
Samantha Love
Light peeked through from under the door that led to her sister’s room. Samantha suppressed a gasp, and fell back quickly to her stoic phase. Her hand reached under her sweater, drawing the sheathed knife from underneath. Silently, she crept through the halls, her body hunched over and her feet treading forwards ball-first, a technique she learnt somewhere to mask distribute her weight evenly and mask her footsteps. She gripped the handle of the door, and turned it slowly. Her breathing halted. The seconds ticked by.
She threw open the door, and rushed in, knife at ready.
No one. The window was ajar, the slight wind blowing at the curtains. On the bed, the girl’s head was lolled over her pillow, a book lying open on her chest, its pages fluttering in the breeze. She must’ve fallen asleep waiting for her sister to come back. Samantha sighed in relief and tucked the knife back under her jacket. She strode over and sat on the side of her bed. Her gaze fell over the girl’s face as she leaned in and swept a hand over the girl’s hair, brushing the stray locks aside from her pale countenance, and plucked the book out of her hands. She set the book aside and drew the covers over her sister.
Paranoia, one must understand, was something that someone like Samantha Love had to live with. She was no free spirit, not one to go through her life without a care in the world. Every bleeding thing she did, she did it for her sister, or for Ethan. Everyone else can get fucked. Samantha kissed her sister’s forehead, and gave one last caress of the girl’s head, before she turned, switched off the lights, closed the door behind her, and left the apartment. She’d rather not leave the kid alone again, but…
She tore off her orange hoodie, and slipped into the blue track jacket she kept tied around her waist, dumping the previous one into the umbrella bin outside her flat. Another safety precaution. Tucking her hands into her pockets, she moved off into the darkening Miami.
She rounded the corner to the bar. She never liked sticking around in Rick and Scot’s, only ever staying as long as she was permitted to. She didn't approve of the bitter taste of beer, and professional opinion was that alcohol often impaired one’s judgement. She didn't like to start fights, and ended every one quickly. With Ethan, however, she was never really sure just what he would do next. Though, it was one of the few things she liked about him, really.
She hadn't even stepped through the door before she found Ethan’s name being bellowed into the air by a young man with a garish haircut. The fop clearly didn't know tact. It was time to teach the lad a lesson that Ethan Savage’s name wasn't one to be thrown about carelessly. She reached under her jacket and moved in.
She leaned in close, her chest pressing against his back, and her lips dangerously close to his ear. She whispered softly, with no pretense that she did not mean to be best friends with him. A gap seperated her midriff and his back, and for good reason. “Depends on who’s asking. What’s your deal?” Samantha’s arm snaked across the young man’s torso, drawing and trapping him close in an embrace, as she removed her knife from its home. The cold rift between them was replaced swiftly by the tip of something sharp being pushed lightly against his spine.
@Aldur @Caru @Swoob
Light peeked through from under the door that led to her sister’s room. Samantha suppressed a gasp, and fell back quickly to her stoic phase. Her hand reached under her sweater, drawing the sheathed knife from underneath. Silently, she crept through the halls, her body hunched over and her feet treading forwards ball-first, a technique she learnt somewhere to mask distribute her weight evenly and mask her footsteps. She gripped the handle of the door, and turned it slowly. Her breathing halted. The seconds ticked by.
She threw open the door, and rushed in, knife at ready.
No one. The window was ajar, the slight wind blowing at the curtains. On the bed, the girl’s head was lolled over her pillow, a book lying open on her chest, its pages fluttering in the breeze. She must’ve fallen asleep waiting for her sister to come back. Samantha sighed in relief and tucked the knife back under her jacket. She strode over and sat on the side of her bed. Her gaze fell over the girl’s face as she leaned in and swept a hand over the girl’s hair, brushing the stray locks aside from her pale countenance, and plucked the book out of her hands. She set the book aside and drew the covers over her sister.
Paranoia, one must understand, was something that someone like Samantha Love had to live with. She was no free spirit, not one to go through her life without a care in the world. Every bleeding thing she did, she did it for her sister, or for Ethan. Everyone else can get fucked. Samantha kissed her sister’s forehead, and gave one last caress of the girl’s head, before she turned, switched off the lights, closed the door behind her, and left the apartment. She’d rather not leave the kid alone again, but…
She tore off her orange hoodie, and slipped into the blue track jacket she kept tied around her waist, dumping the previous one into the umbrella bin outside her flat. Another safety precaution. Tucking her hands into her pockets, she moved off into the darkening Miami.
She rounded the corner to the bar. She never liked sticking around in Rick and Scot’s, only ever staying as long as she was permitted to. She didn't approve of the bitter taste of beer, and professional opinion was that alcohol often impaired one’s judgement. She didn't like to start fights, and ended every one quickly. With Ethan, however, she was never really sure just what he would do next. Though, it was one of the few things she liked about him, really.
She hadn't even stepped through the door before she found Ethan’s name being bellowed into the air by a young man with a garish haircut. The fop clearly didn't know tact. It was time to teach the lad a lesson that Ethan Savage’s name wasn't one to be thrown about carelessly. She reached under her jacket and moved in.
She leaned in close, her chest pressing against his back, and her lips dangerously close to his ear. She whispered softly, with no pretense that she did not mean to be best friends with him. A gap seperated her midriff and his back, and for good reason. “Depends on who’s asking. What’s your deal?” Samantha’s arm snaked across the young man’s torso, drawing and trapping him close in an embrace, as she removed her knife from its home. The cold rift between them was replaced swiftly by the tip of something sharp being pushed lightly against his spine.
@Aldur @Caru @Swoob
Aldur
Memory Dealer
"You bet..."
Ethan hopped on one of the seats and took off his jacket. His attention was caught by a particular shade of violet. His stab wound had swollen up and bruised. Wasn't the prettiest sight, but he deduced it was superficial. He's had his anti-tetanus vaccine some time ago. He was golden. Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around with a raised eyebrow. It relaxed after a quick inspection, paving the way for a smile to appear.
"Looking better-..."
"Yo! Where's Ethan Savage?"
"...already."
Head turns. The smile turns into a toothy grin while gaze lowers. "Too easy..." Ethan whispers to himself. He slowly gets off the seat and starts pacing towards the newcomer.
"I'll tell you where he is. He's ten inches deep in, oh whatever..." He stops 4 feet in front of the blue-haired man who was quite in the conundrum, as Samantha "embraced" him dearly. The grin persisted, mouth closing, however. He waved a hand towards Samantha but did not signal her to let him go.
"Why, hello there! You must be the new guy. I am Ethan Savage." He extended a hand to the guy, disregarding his situation entirely.
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2SEATER
Howdy
Scot Chad
“Ay, Scot! Bring out the good stuff. Ethan's here!" Scot sighed as he began to prepare the drinks for the customer, who was seemingly a regular, as Rick appeared to know him. Scot, on the other hand, did not. In fact, there was not a single face in the whole bar, apart from Rick, that he recognized. Maybe Scot did know them once upon a time, but had forgotten them once he took the job at the BoP headquarters. Back when he used to live in this area if Miami, Scot knew plenty of people, but now? Not so much. He'd had quite a few strangers walk up to him, giving him a friendly pat on the back, or a handshake, expecting Scot to remember them, leading to a number of awkward exchanges. Scot wasn't sure if he should bother getting to know these people once again; after all, he didn't intend to stick around. He was just waiting for that call to say that there had been a mistake. At this point in time, however, Scot was in a state of limbo, waiting to be assigned somewhere. This was why he had decided to come back to the bar, as a way to keep a consistent source of income while he was technically jobless. It was an unfortunate situation, made all the more difficult with Rick’s unwillingness to cooperate. Rick had held a grudge against Scot for walking out on him and the bar; the only reason Rick allowed Scot to work at the bar was because Scot was still technically co-owner. There was definitely tension between the two, but Rick made sure not to show it in front of the customers.
Scot placed the drinks one at a time in front of the man and walked to the other end of the counter. He began to idly clean some shot glasses, despite them already being clean. Scot just needed an excuse to be able to think to himself. He pondered his situation, eventually putting the shot glasses back and making his way out to the back of the bar where he slumped down in front of the ham radio he had set up. His train of thought was interrupted by a sharp beeping noise. It took Scot a couple of seconds to register what the sound was. It was the radio, which means it must be from...Scot almost jumped out of his seat, scrambling to get the headset onto his head.
“Hello? This is Scot Chad” he said frantically. There was a mumbling sound, like someone was talking away from the microphone.
“Hello, is this Scot Chad?” said a gravely voice.
“Yeah, I just said that. Is thi-” Scot got cut off by a staticky grunt.
“This is the BoP,” the voice seemed slightly annoyed now, “we're assigning you to the Miami team as a field operative.” While this was certainly not what Scot would have liked to have been told, it was the best possible outcome for such a negative situation; if Scot was going to he a field operative, at least he wouldn't have to move. Still, Scot was prepared to try and talk his way out of the field and back into the office. He almost began, but noticed the BoP had cut the communication. Quick and direct, giving no time to argue. Classic Birds of Prey.
Scot got up out of the seat, only to find Rick standing behind him with a concerned look on his face.
“What was that about?” Rick asked brusquely.
“It was the BoP” replied Scot “I've been assigned to the Miami team.” Rick raised an eyebrow.
“So you're leaving again already? Gee, after putting up such a big fight about working here again I thought you'd stick around for a but longer.” Scot could tell Rick was a little ticked off.
“No, no, no” Scot quickly assured him “I'll still be working part time here, in between assignments.” Rick rubbed his forehead. They both knew this was only a temporary answer, but neither could be bothered to discuss the details. “Now, there wouldn't happen to be any BoP members her right now would there?” Rick raised an arm, pointing towards the door. Scot walked back out to the counter to get a better look. It was the man who Rick had served earlier. He was talking to a blue haired man who was being embraced from behind by a woman. Another woman, this one blond, lingered around near the scene. They seemed busy to say the least. Scot opted to wait. Making himself look busy, Scot picked up a glass and began to clean it, his gaze still fixed the BoP members.
Jared Yoshida
?????????
Miami... the estimated population is 440,000 people. The vibrant tropical beaches, to it's crowded streets and towering buildings, to the ruthless and murderous gang's. And other crap that Jared wishes to give a single shit about. From his days working with B.O.P, he decided to take a break and ease off a little from all the assigned missions. A simple careless wander around the city and a hit at Scot and Rick's bar wouldn't do him harm. Jared would have great recognition and a mutual feeling when it came to the night, that from the part of growing up on the streets at a young age. He'd look around him and notice the atmosphere around him more, the smell was indescribable and crap, and all he could see was men and women walking back and forth and a few homeless people asking for change or sleeping on the concrete ground with filthy sleeping bags near drug stores. Jared would continue to look around until he accidentally bumped into the man, the man would drop his phone and his case and fall onto the ground. The man looked slim and not too tall probably around 5'7 or 8, his hair was slick black and brown. and he was wearing a skinny fit jacket suit. Jared would look at him for a second and continue his walk, the man got up while picking up his case and phone saying "Nice walking jackass!" Jared would jokingly sigh ignore the man's recent comment, and continued to walk to Scot and Rick's. He'd finally arrive
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