Avatar image for crimson_vigilante
#1 Posted by Crimson_Vigilante (874 posts) - - Show Bio

Last night a hooded man burned down a police station, the smoke toxic. 12 of Gothic's Finest died, thousands of taxpayers' dollars burned to a charred pile. Any paper records too. The unnerving part is the simplicity of the attack. No supervillain scheme, no spy gear infiltration. This guy just walked right up, chucked a Molotov through the window, and split. He's the kind of man we need to take care of. Evil comes in all forms, and more often than not those forms are average men and women on the outside. But our 'heroes' are too preoccupied with the evil that comes in more powerful vessels, and our police are seemingly nonexistent. Half of them getting lit on fire probably doesn't help.

So it's time we take matters into our own hands. We're the Crimson Blades, and we're just as normal as the freaks we kill. Junkyard's young, but damn does he have a temper. The kid's got a whole pack full of blunt objects to smash you with. Looks to me like he raided a sports store. Then there's Marty. I dunno what his deal is. Just some old dude who showed up with a flyer and a fancy sword, but he looks capable enough. That sword is pretty swanky too. Getting some weird-ass treasure hunter vibes form this guy. Ajax lost his arms, got them replaced with robot ones. This pretty much makes him our heavy hitter. Physically? He may very well be the most capable here. Well, except for maybe Skub. Skub is an Ork or somethin' that got teleported here. Big green dude who likes to chop things and shoot things, preferably as much as possible in as little time as possible. Not too smart, but he's subservient and good in a scrap. Valuable asset to say the least. We've got a kid who calls himself The Wannabe. He's humble, I guess. Says he's pretty lucky, too. We'll see what he brings to the table. Speaking of which, we've got a cosplayer. Yup, she dresses up like something out of a Diablo game and shoots people with crossbows. I don't think the getup is necessary, but how else is she gonna fit into a team of costumes bozos like ourselves? 'Cept not all of us wear costumes. No, we got Thomas Reiss, Pizza Guy elite. He runs fast. Not, McStorm fast, mind you. Just good at running. And, last but not least, we've got Maurice. Suit and tie kinda guy. Doesn't look like he bring's a whole lot to the table, but he's the only one of us who had the sense to bring a gun to the fight, it looks like. Except maybe Skub. He keeps talkin' about a 'Shoota,' whatever that is. And then, of coarse, there's me. The handsome leader, and also team medic. The Dark Vengeance type. Only I don't plan to get killed by another Dark Vengeance type. Twice.

So there's our little team of relatively normal people (and Skub) who are trying to make Gothic a safer place by putting on masks and stabbing people. What could go wrong?

"So, any info on the arsonist?" It was a question everyone in the room asked in one form or another. Crimson had just returned from what remained of the police station, hoping to get answers from the survivors of the attack and the ruins it left behind. "Nah. All they saw was a guy in a hoodie haul ass in a Pontiac out from under a busted street light. Couldn't see the guy's face, get the model of the car, and all they were able to figure out from the light is that is was sabotage. Detectives my ass." The situation was frustrating, but exciting. With the police out of the question on this one, the arsonist had the potential to be the Crimson Blades' first big gig. Sure, they'd stopped a few muggings, interrupted some weaksauce liquor store stickups, but this guy just torched a cop shop. "Well, despite the infinite helpfulness of the police, we're not going to be able to track this guy down. We gotta wait for him to come to us. We've gotta get to where he's gonna strike next. Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Anyone?" Yeah, don't be fooled by the lighthearted tone. Shit's about to get real ugly tonight. "My bet's another cop shop. You got any ideas, say 'em. If not, we're doing police stations." You could compare us to the neighborhood watch, sure. You could also compare a common mugger to Ultraviolence. Think of us as the neighborhood watch on Bath Salts. Raving lunatics murdering a path to a better world.

"Let's go find us an arsonist."

Avatar image for _ajax_
#2 Posted by .Ajax. (2547 posts) - - Show Bio

Gothic City and the World had been consumed by the phenomena of heroes and villains. Heroes started out as something to protect and bring justice to the common person, but times have changed drastically. With the increase in villains and the emergence of metahuman abilities, masters of a hundred different martial arts, and the ultimate goal being to take over the city, the World, or wreak mass havoc, the common person no longer has a hero.

Heroes have become celebrities; whether they embrace it or not is irrelevant. We made them what they are -- icons, protectors; we trusted them. Now they have cast us aside to pursue personal vendetta's against their arch-nemesis, hunt a clan of assassin's; some exist purely because of their respective villains. When the World's countries went to war in Afghanistan and Iraq to condemn the horrific events there, where were these so-called heroes? When mass killings and genocide occur in Africa, they stand idly by just like the U.N. When firefighters and police officers conduct their daily, dangerous jobs, these "superheroes" are no where to be found. When the poor old lady walking home late at night gets mugged, nobody swoops in to save the day any more. Those days are extinct.

It's time for somebody to look out for the common person again. It's time to stop the low-level crime because it is that kind of crime which is the biggest danger to the largest majority of the planet; not a clan of assassins - they don't go after the regular joe.

Here we are, responding to our first incident as a team, if you can call us a team. More like a mix-matched gaggle of outcasts, but yet united. An arsonist set ablaze to a police station...what a sick individual. I was anxious to get on this guys trail; he was a real villain who struck real heroes. Police officers are bound by the law; us? We're fanatics, most of us mentally "unhealthy" by definition of a medical professional. We will be forced to bend the law to bring justice - it is what is necessary.

"No questions, let's find this scumbag."

Avatar image for bonfire
#3 Posted by Bonfire (154 posts) - - Show Bio

The old black Pontiac rumbled around another dilapidated street corner, dust kicked up around the grey bumpers. As the wheels spun, fingers drummed rhythmically on the steering wheel, music from the radio echoing around the inside of the car. It was a hard, basic electronic beat, the bassline overpowering any melody that sought to be heard. The relentless wub wub of the song seemed to match the mood perfectly, a small smile creeping up around the driver's face. He nodded slightly in sync with the beat, legitimately enjoying the song. Stopping at a red light, he glanced at the small electronic clock on the dash. Eleven o' clock, he thought. He inhaled deeply, twisting the knob and shutting down the radio. Silently, his car pulled into the street corner, nestled in an alleyway near another police station.

He'd come more prepared tonight. He'd struck the first blow, a fireball engulfing the station within moments of his leaving. It'd been all over the local news, but of course, there were always bigger stories to tell. Within minutes of his statement making the air, there'd been news of a parahuman shattering a meteor over Anchorage, or a flying woman rescuing airline pilots from a malfunctioning prototype. All as expected, he'd thought, turning off the television with a satisfied grin. Soon enough, his message would reach more people. Soon enough.

But of course, he'd need to be ready for more action. After what he did to the old station, Lee could expect resistance. They'd be watching the cameras intently now. Tucked into his pants was a SIG P226, one of the most extensively used pistols in the world. He'd brought enough bullets along to deter any potential pursuers, as well as ensure his own success. Underneath the hoodie were a collection of small belts and straps, each one holding a different, special little vial of his own personal mixture. They weighed him down considerably, but he still felt strong enough to move with purpose. Overtop of these was his coat, treated to protect him from burns, and more importantly, blunt trauma. Were he engaged, his overcoat would at the very least offer him a chance to scramble to safety, rather than just being kicked to the curb and shot in the back of the head.

He took out a small, crumpled picture, the edges slightly burnt. For an entire twenty seconds, he stared at it, unblinking. Breathing in, holding, then exhaling, he stuffed it in his coat pocket, stepping out of the Pontiac into the street corner. His American flag-themed bandana hung loose around his neck, goggles up around his scalp. He took the gas mask off the dash, shutting the door silently and slipping it over the lower half of his face. Flicking a switch, he inhaled, making sure it was working just fine. Additionally, it would obscure his voice, but he wouldn't be saying much in the first place. He pulled the red, white, and blue bandana over the mask, tying it tight around the back of his head and neck. Reaching up with gloved hands, he lowered the black goggles over his eyes, shutting out the world around him. This time, he'd perforated the sides, so they wouldn't fog up again.

As stepped into a shadow, he heard the little clink clink that came with every step, vials of clear, swirling liquid concealed behind his jacket. He grinned again, feeling adrenaline rush through his veins as he spotted his target. He couldn't see any guards patrolling the area. Idiots, he thought with satisfaction. Apparently the report hadn't gotten through the bureaucratic system yet, warning the corrupt men inside to be on their guard. His fingers twitched in anticipation, small smile climbing up the corner of his masked face.

Here we go, baby. Enjoy.

Whipping out a large bottle that had used to contain pure whiskey, he flicked out his lighter, setting the small oil-soaked rag ablaze. With inhuman determination, he chucked it through the front window, watching the flames explode out of the top. This time, though, he didn't immediately turn tail and run. He stood in the street, taking in the scene of destruction. Reflected flames flickered in his goggles, eyes staring deep into the burning mess.

"How's that for fireworks, Jan," he said under his breath, inaudible to all but himself. He could outdrive the authorities once they showed up; for now, he was satisfied just to stay and watch the show, absorbed by the grim, chaotic spectacle before him. The future would tell whether or not his decision to stay and watch would be a mistake, or a guilty pleasure.

Avatar image for thomasreiss
#5 Edited by ThomasReiss (9 posts) - - Show Bio

Tom arrived just in time to be brushed aside by an old man, apparently in a big hurry.

Crap, hope I didn't miss everything... what a day to be late.

With no free hands, it took him a minute of fumbling with the door before stumbling inside, interrupting what seemed to be an important talk.

"Uh, hey guys, sorry I'm late. Stopped by Dunkin' on the way here for some coffee; thought you guys might want something, so I brought donuts..." He trailed off, realizing that everyone's attention was now on him.

The crowd was like nothing Tom had ever seen before. Men in costumes, some of them giants... one of 'em green! Must be that Scooby guy.

"Uh... I'll just leave these here."

He dropped the donut box on a table in the middle of the room and slid uncomfortably into a seat.

"So, heh heh... what'd I miss?"

Avatar image for mojohnson
#6 Posted by MoJohnson (65 posts) - - Show Bio

@crimson_vigilante: @thomasreiss:"We're gonna go after the police station arsonist. Marty already left." Maurice answered Tom. He opened the box of donuts, hoping for a lovely strawberry iced one. "Glazed," Maurice said, disdainfully. He twittled his thumbs, waiting for the self-proclaimed "Crimson Vigilante" to give them their next move. He wasn't exactly the independent type. Heck, he wasn't even the vigilante type. The only reason he was here was because of a deal he took to help Leon. See, he wasn't even from Gothic City. He had just moved up here with his daughter, Stella, and her boyfriend Leon (who had his own apartment now). Down in Houston, it was relatively peaceful. Sure, there was crime, but nothing like up here in Gothic City. A police station arson? That would be unheard of in Houston. Yet, it seemed like that was the norm in Gothic City. With each passing second, Maurice felt more and more like he was in over his head. Was this right? Did he really need to bring Stella up here for some information they might find sooner or later anyway? He was beginning to have second thoughts about all of this.

Pushing his inhibitions aside for a moment, he scanned the room to get a feel for the rest of the group. It seemed the other members either had inhibitions of their own, were a little bit nuts, or they were Skub. Getting tired of waiting, he asked their leader "Are we gonna go after Marty?"

Avatar image for _gaige_
#7 Edited by _Gaige_ (992 posts) - - Show Bio

Elizabeth Gaige, she was just a young adult angry at the world. She'd been engaged and going to college not so long ago, but then a stereotypical cape and twirling mustache came smashing through town. Her apartment was in need of repairs and her fiancé spooked fled town. Meaning more work instead of classes because now she had to pay all the bills and payoff repairs. So the part time job at a prop shop became a full one and dreams of working for the big screen faded away to mediocre pay. She wanted to buy a gun a bunch of ammo and just go on a rampage. She was afraid of dying though so she looked instead to turn her art skills and cosplay talent into means of letting off some steam in the world of people she hated.

Personally to her anyone with powers and their choice of bright colored bondage gear was the nauseating reason life sucked. However if it meant she could get her anger out relatively free of charge she'd tolerate it. So there she sat in the predictably lame room listening to a mission. Sounded lame, it was just one guy, but whatever for the greater good or something.

"Hey you know we're supposed to be the low budget Strike not pore mans Retrofire Allegiance and The Champion. Next time Old Man Aragorn pulls that shit can we bitch slap him?" Liz remarked stating that they were a lousy team not crappy individuals and that she didn't like Marty much.

Grabbing a donut and moving for the door she paused to check herself in the mirror of the bathroom for a swift moment. A few so small you wouldn't notice adjustments to her costume and she was ready. "Right so here's my game plan, follow Marty maybe race him. Then when I see Mcpantsonfire peddle to to the metal and grill and making a stop on Vehicular Manslaughter Road! Who's with me?"

Her car was a piece of shit an outdated hunk of junk with no title worth mention. Squeeze together and it'd sit five, it's only note worthy attribute was it's stereo. Always on and always loud she'd be head banging to a One Eyed Doll cd as she drove towards the scene of the latest crime. If the others joined her great if not that was fine. In either case she'd be racing at eighty miles per hour at the man standing in the road masked and triumphant silhouetted by fire. What she wanted was to hit him and slam into his car wedging him inbetween the two vehicles and shattering bone. Forget eye lasers and assassin throwing stars she wanted to solve things with Mad Max and Fast and the Furious rules of the road.

Avatar image for warboss
#8 Posted by Warboss (401 posts) - - Show Bio

A typical day in the life of Skub consisted of waking up, eating some squigs, and smacking around the grots so they would get in line for the work orders. Zarkit's "tellyporta" - whatever that was - zapped him here little more than a week ago, and within the first few minutes Skub thought he was going to go crazy from boredom. The oomies were all squishy and weak, though the mutants and metas were good fighting when he found some. None too bright, he wanted to fight the likes of Champion before breakfast on the third day of his exile. Yet, being that he wasn't too smart anyway, he couldn't exactly come up with a plan to engage in said fight without going up to the guy, smacking him over the head with a choppa, and seeing where that took him.

Of course, this never came to fruition. If it had, then poor little Skub would be no more.

Growing increasingly impatient and weary of the lack of good scrappin' going on, Skub enlisted himself as a mercenary so that he could at least have some fun while waiting for Bloodstompa to get here...if he ever would in the first place. That's how he got in league with Crimson and his merry band of vigilante mask-hunters. Though, he had no idea what any of this meant, he just wanted a good fight like a human needs water to drink and air to breathe. Little Skub was getting angsty and, moreover, depressed. Any inkling of a healthy brawl would help him greatly.

And so he sat there, grunting amidst the blabbering of his teammates around him. The Ork didn't want to listen to anything (as a matter of fact, it was very likely he couldn't understand half of what was said anyway) unless it involved getting stuck in the middle of a few hard-as-nails gits who thought themselves bigger and badder than a Greenskin. Yet, Little Skub (little for Orks, as far as they go; Skub still standing at about six feet tall hunched-over) snorted and grumbled until his boredom got the better of him. Grabbing his choppa, he hurled his thick arms onto the table and gave a blood-curdling war cry.

"WAAAGH! Don't wanna look fer da git, jes get ta krumpin' 'im already!"

If there was going to be a detective story, Skub was having no part in it.

"Kill wun oomie, ten more pop out in shiny trukks. Wot's so speshul 'bout dis'n, eh?"

Avatar image for _goliath_
#9 Posted by _Goliath_ (879 posts) - - Show Bio

@crimson_vigilante: The Cosmic Prince roamed the sewers only a shell of himself. Behind his blue cloak and his dermal shell was a creature far more ill intended than what Ulysses could imagine himself to be in life. For now, the simple goal was not to destroy but to stalk. Gothic City was abandoned, exiled from the United States. Since the rebirth the talk of a green man with red eyes roaming the sewer tunnels was rumor. Rumor sparked curiosity from youngsters playing truth or dare, or just looking for a thrill. The homeless that lived in the depths of the sewers had been long gone after being literally devoured by the "Sewer Monster". Goliath's hunger had been held by the mysterious disappearances of youth from the city, but the time of sewer dwelling had only brought the familiar muscle movements of a physical form to Goliath's mind after a weightless experience. While Ulysses' husk was a suitable body for movement the scale difference would remain a problem once out of the sewer for days. The only way to get used to it was to get the courage to do it.

Ulysses paused his step in the sewers. The few rats that remained in the tunnels scurried past his boots, taking cover in pipes and dens with a certain understanding of what would soon follow. The Silver Hand's skin began to dissipate when his physical form became unclear of whether he was going to disappear or enlarge. It was only a blink before the scaled Devourer blasted out of the sewers at full size. As his jaws opened to release a glass-shattering roar his legs gave out underneath him. The King of the Cosmos fell to the ground, shaking the westside of Gothic city, crushing a public park behind him. Surprisingly enough the sudden earthquake left the populace of Gothic asleep.

The Titan slowly pulled to his knees before rising, his legs holding uneasily under him. Goliath moved his feet ahead slowly but to no avail, the Devourer took another fall downwards, shaking the city once again along with crushing a row of paused cars that had stopped to gaze in awe at the behemoth. Big G's form shook as his physical form returned to be once again the late Ulysses. He rose to his feet, pulling himself out of a car's flattened roof. The drivers of the cars lay inside or squished out the windows into the street in almost a paste. As the lights for blocks around turned on inside the downgrade apartments for blocks around had begun to flick on the Partheris Prince grasped inside the cars removing a far too big trenchcoat for it's former driver, along with his fedora. Thoughts raced through Goliath's head as he hastily wore the clothes and stumbled down the street. With his usual form being unbelievably hard to maneuver it was a heavy risk to sack the city when unable to even walk. For once in a lifetime, the Tarragon had to move stealthily.

When the scene of the smashing and declared "traffic mixup" was two miles behind him the smoke could be smelled strongly. By this time it was certainly more than just an alley fire. He made haste in his step rushing down the street to turn the corner in time to see a window explode out the side of the station. From this view, an explosion of such a small size could make a being like himself wince. He tore the trench coat off his body, the fedora still capped onto his head. The Creation rushed into the police station, busting down the wall with a shoulderbash easily. Ulysses released four extra arms from underneath his usual two grasping the police not yet scorched by their collars. The praise erupted from the officers as Kermit began taking two officers into each arm before he dove out of the wall, crashing into the sidewalk. His escape through the wall caused a collapse in a support beam sending the building falling down. He placed them on the sidewalk, removing the bulletproof vests from their bodies and the gunbelts from their waists.

The looks of praise and joy to be alive faded from their faces when Ulysses removed each police-standard sidearm from it's holster with each arm raising them upwards. The Semi-Automatic fire blasted out riddling them with rounds until the guns clicked empty. Each officer lay on the curb filled with holes. The praise of "Hero!" "Oh god thank you!" faded away a distant hope for the last officer in line, not yet dead. Officer Ingles laid back on the curb, spewing blood from his mouth the drench of his own blood covered his eyes, disfiguring the approaching six-armed figure. It only took moments before Ingles hung dead, his own badge being stuffed into his skull.

Ulysses remained at the scene, desecrating the bodies left behind. Gore and intestine was thrown around the street, and the six armed Prince remained the subject to murder.

Avatar image for crimson_vigilante
#10 Posted by Crimson_Vigilante (874 posts) - - Show Bio

@_goliath_: @bonfire: @orpheus_knightfall: @thomasreiss: @mojohnson: @_gaige_: @warboss: @_ajax_:

"God damnit." If Marty had stayed for briefing he wouldn't be out there alone. No one to watch his ass now. "Uh, hey guys, sorry I'm late." Thomas was supposed to be the fast one. Nevertheless, at least he was sticking around. Brought donuts? As if we're the cop shop that just got torched. Didn't stop everyone from gathering around and grabbing one, though. As they had their conversation around the pastries, I lost my patience. "Ahem." I growled it out in a particularly unsubtle, sarcastic tone. They knew I was getting pissed, and I had every right to be. This maniac could be killing more people right now. "Kill wun oomie, ten more pop out in shiny trukks. Wot's so speshul 'bout dis'n, eh?" It was good Skub was asking questions. we needed him to understand his job if he was going to be our heavy hitter. "This one isn't special. Not in the sense that he can do anything we can't. It's what he's already done, and what he place to do next. He's a psychopath, and he needs to be dealt with. We're splitting into pairs, and keeping watch over some of the cop shops around the city. Chances are he'll strike one of them while we're watching." Not a snowball's chance in hell we'd catch him in the act. There are too many police stations in this city to watch if we went at it alone, let alone halved. But it was something, and we needed something, anything to go off of. If we weren't successful tonight, we'd be that much closer tomorrow. "Are we gonna go after Marty?" It was a valid question, albeit somewhat inappropriately timed. We couldn't let Marty go out there alone. He had no idea what he was dealing with. If we were going to do this the right way, with as little friendly casualties as possible, we would need to be able to outnumber this guy in any given scenario. "Yeah, we'll grab him." As I opened my mouth to continue speaking, Gaige began. "Right so here's my game plan," I was tempted to stop her for interrupting me, but I let her continue. We needed someone other than myself on this team who could think. "Follow Marty maybe race him. Then when I see Mcpantsonfire peddle to to the metal and grill and making a stop on Vehicular Manslaughter Road! Who's with me?" Somewhat unprofessional, but a sound plan nonetheless. We'd need someone patrolling anyway, in hopes that they might intercept if our guy tries to flee. "As good a plan as any I guess. I'll take Skub, he follows my orders, best to have him as close as possible. Ajax, you take Thomas. Maurice, you go with Gaige, catch up to Marty. Radio in once you find him for further orders. You've all been given a Comm. Use it. You see our guy, someone who might be our guy, or anything that may possibly be related to our guy, report it. We're finding this bastard. Any questions?" A simple briefing was all we needed. If these people couldn't think on their feet, then they shouldn't have come. This was no game. There is no 'weekend warrior' type deal when it comes to vigilantism. This is a full-time gig. You have to be devoted. You have to spend every waking moment of your life fighting or preparing for the next one. This mission would be where we separated the men from the boys. Only the strong were gonna make it. "No questions, let's find this scumbag." Good man. I could already tell Ajax was going to fit in here fine. "Oh, and by the way, if you feel like stopping by the old cop shop, don't. There's nothing there for you to find, and things got messy after the fire started. Some nutjob went in there and had some fun with the bodies, spread them across the place like f*cking butter. Not pretty. Just stick to your jobs." The filth that populated this city sickened me. What kind of creature would do something like that? Something tells me that nutjob would be next on the list. But we had an arsonist to catch. So I took Skub out to my stolen pickup. The dead don't drive. Best it can't be traced back to us anyhow. Due to his side, Jolly Green had to ride in the back. That won't draw any attention. We'd be ditching the truck in an alley, and making a short trek to a warehouse just across from our station. Nice and empty, should make for a good vantage point.

God I hope that bastard turns up near us. I wanna open him up myself.

Avatar image for bonfire
#11 Edited by Bonfire (154 posts) - - Show Bio

@orpheus_knightfall: @mojohnson: @_gaige_: @warboss: @crimson_vigilante:

He'd been staring into the fire for what had felt like days. It flickered back and forth, the structural supports of the building creaking and collapsing, glass busting open, metal contorting under the heat. No officers had arrived yet, undoubtedly held back by incompetence and bureaucracy. Absentmindedly, in his right hand, he flicked his lighter open and shut, twirling it between his fingers. As the ashes blew out across the street, he heard something coming, something coming fast. He turned his head, goggles betraying no emotion as he glared down the road, the source of the noise now apparent. Music was blaring almost as loud as the old, beaten-up engine, announcing the vehicle's brash arrival long before it could be seen.

It was coming straight for him. His legs tensed, eyes staring straight at the grill as it bounded down the long road. There'd be no way he could make a dodge; were he to roll or dive out of the way, the driver would be able to react fast enough to flatten him. In the time it would take for him to move, they'd be able to adjust, and run him straight over. He gripped the lighter in his gloved palm, loosening his jaw. He wouldn't want any broken teeth.

A normal man would call him crazy, but his mind had already worked out the best possible outcome. He'd have to take the hit, enduring an 80 mph collision with little more than a fire-resistant outfit made of Kevlar and nomex. But, he knew something that most people didn't about car wrecks, and that was how to survive them. He'd never pulled off the maneuver before, but now was as good a time as any to try. As the car barreled closer, he crouched, preparing to jump. There was no way in Hell he'd be able to clear the hood with a standing jump; the trick was in minimizing the impact, balancing it across all of his body. As the car was upon him, he leapt into the air, curling his body into a ball. Knees tucked up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. Then, he felt the impact, air knocked from his body as the windshield crashed into his side. He was launched over his own car, sliding down over the hood of the Pontiac. The back fender had been wrecked, the assaulting vehicle crashing directly into it in an attempt to crush his body against it. Were it not for the jump, he'd probably be dead, alongside the drivers of the vehicle. In their mad attempt to run him over, the wreck they ended up in was probably just as lethal, if not more so.

"Idiots," he muttered silently, getting weakly to his knees on the other side of the Pontiac. He smiled, looking at the mess of mangled metal before him. Unless they were superhuman, or they had some wicked airbags, they'd be in far worse shape than he was. He felt his chest. Maybe a broken rib, or just a fracture. His vials hadn't broken, which was a relief. The padding was thickest around them; he couldn't risk getting covered in his own personal Napalm. His mind blazed with adrenaline, focused on the flames, rejuvenated. He should have been in pain, but somehow, he wasn't feeling it right away. They'd wrecked the back of his car, but that didn't matter to him. They were incredibly easy to acquire in this day and age, particularly with the police force worrying more about alien invasion and mutant uprising than petty theft. It had been one of the factors that enabled him to work so efficiently, gathering whatever materials he needed while still staying under the radar of the justice department.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to retaliate, even if the crash had killed them all. Self defense and whatnot. He grasped at the inside of his coat, gloved fingers flicking out a small vial with practiced discipline. It spun underneath his fingers, a sealed test tube of incredibly volatile liquid. Casually, he tossed it through one of the broken windows of the junked, aggressive car, an underhand serve that was more befitting of waste disposal than a lethal attack. A second later, he whipped out one of his many lighters, opening the top, and flicking it inside the car. Within seconds, a massive fireball would envelop the vehicle, killing any who remained inside.

Avatar image for _gaige_
#12 Posted by _Gaige_ (992 posts) - - Show Bio

@mojohnson: @crimson_vigilante: @bonfire:

So there the two were Liz and Maurice, speeding down the roads looking for a sign. The music was booming it's volume loud and causing the car to vibrate. And sure enough they saw signs of fire and smoke. "Maurice get ready. You don't want to be in the car post collision." Grabbing the small radio she contacted the others. "This is Gaige found myself a pyrophillia! North West side of town." She didn't have time to give an exact road.

Opening the door and gesturing for Maurice to do the same Liz took out a cross bow and shot the old gas pedal. Of three fingers that were up one fell. The pedal it was stuck the aged car in motion now until it hit something. Adjust the wheel a bit, they were getting close another finger falls. Check suroundings, she'd rather not hit a light post in the foolish daredevil stunt. The third finger falls the count is over and Gaige leaps from the car balling up and hoping for the best. She hits the trash bags on the curb hard and fast. Paint scratches off the artistic costume of hers. Aches of several bruises make themselves known as she struggles to her feet.

The sound is brutal on the ears as metal colided with metal. It's followed by a sound of glass and bits and pieces clattering to the ground. The airbags didn't even go off it was a car in the poorest of shape sacrificed in an attempted road kill. Much to the Diablo of Arts and Crafts displeasure though the fire fetish criminal also rose and ignighted her now totaled car. Flames licked at the cushioned seats and used countless magazines as kindling. No point crying over the lack of blood stained interiors though. Tonight the Crimson Blades had their first real gig and Gaige was the first on the scene. Well her and Maurice but she couldn't check on him now.

Drawing her second crossbow she took aim posed in an almost movie star dual wield fashion. Her fingers tightend the weapons clicked and then abruptly began to make that classic thwack sound in rapid succession. Each crossbow could hold twenty bolts and were automatic in there firing pattern. Money saved up and best spent on school loans had gone to those dart spitting beauties she held. Forty bolts raced down the street looking to turn the gas mask wearing fire lover into a pin cushion.

However she wasn't an elite marksman the range was only a few yards so it wasn't a difficult shot but she also didn't have acuracy in spades. It was a more accurate then off target I should at least hit the guy spray pattern. Any critical hit was just luck. On top of that the crossbow rounds could punch through flesh and bone but they weren't about to take down anyone in any kind of armor. Piercing power was negated for quantity. "Quick M say some snarky movie quote." Of course Liz wish she could top off the moment with some clever one liner but she had nothing. Granted she'd never killed a man and never been in a real fight. Perhaps she was a fool to think she'd just popped the murder cherry so early into the night.

Avatar image for warboss
#13 Posted by Warboss (401 posts) - - Show Bio

Skub never asked for much. Being your typical Ork Boy, he didn't have a concept of wanting much in life besides a good fight. Biologically speaking, it might have been impossible for him to dream of anything besides running headlong into battle screaming his lungs out. If he had been spawned one of the Oddboyz, things would be much different. For now, he clutched to his shoota, the thick barrel hefted in his gnarled fingers as he sat in the back of the truck he had been designated guard of. He thought he was doing a good job, as the bed of the vehicle was not invaded by any foreign life form that he could detect with his beady red eyes and floppy ears. The Greenskin snorted. This was so damn boring, even with the "oomie" boss driving up front.

Once the truck stopped, however, something instinctual popped into his brain. He went straight for his choppa and his slugga - a pistol-sized version of his shoota, though both of them were basically hand cannons in the grip of a normal human - and jumped out, snarling menacingly. With his gun strapped to his back and some stikk bombs clicked to his belt, Skub looked around for the first person to smack upside the head with his heavy hatchet-shaped melee weapon. Disappointingly, nobody was around. He grunted and followed the boss into the warehouse, half-expecting some bugs to squash to pass the time.

The Greenskin reluctantly trailed behind Crimson, each step depressing him more and more as the night wore on. How hard was it to fight something in this stupid city? He could just as easily chop someone's head in half and get a dozen police officers swarming down his neck. His thick, ropey muscles were spongy enough to absorb all of the impact their smaller guns would normally fire, after all. It would be a bloody few minutes before larger calibers needed to be introduced, and by then Skub would only just be beginning. That's how Crimson found him actually. An alien teleported here by mistake and then set loose on an unsuspecting population. Luckily the Ork didn't kill anyone (he wanted to, though) and Crimson only subdued him by promising more and bigger fights.

Right now however, those promises seemed hollow. Looking for a fight was all well and good, but Skub needed to put choppa to skull soon or he would go crazy. He chewed on an old screw he found on one of the dilapidated machines. About half a minute passed for the two, more than enough for Skub to almost think about putting one between Crimson's eyes, and the Greenskin's ears twitched in excitement. His tiny crimson eyes flashed thirstily. The sound in the distance became louder, and so too did his heartbeat. He cracked a many-toothed grin and howled.

"Dere's fightin' sumwhere boss! Da burnin's startin'! C'mon, le's go!"

Already en route back to the truck, Skub seemed to be followed by a trio of grots and a squig that inexplicably spawned underneath him.

Avatar image for mojohnson
#14 Edited by MoJohnson (65 posts) - - Show Bio

@crimson_vigilante: @bonfire: @_gaige_: "Wait, we're actually doing this? Wait, Liz!" Maurice was hoping she would rethink her strategy, but she didn't seem like she was the type to do that. Quickly, he swung open his door, and rolled out onto the concrete. He was hurting in several places, but nothing seemed to be broken. He was a lucky one, for sure. This was just like that time, when he was 14, when his sister Carly tried to show him what fun was. Except for the psychotic arsonist. And his psychotic teammate. And all the other psychos he was running with. And the whole vigilante thing. And just about everything that was going on.

Galveston, 1984

"Remind me again, why are we doing this?" Maurice shouted over the deafening roar of the engine of a '62 Corvette, as they rode atop the crude sands of Galveston beach. "Because it's fun! Chill!" Carly replied, with her hands on the wheel. "But dad is gonna kill us!" said Mo. "What did I just say? Chill!" Carly retorted. Carly was always the cool Johnson kid, and she thought it wouldn't hurt if she showed her lame brother how to be cool. But that didn't exactly go as planned, as she lost control of the car. The classic 'vette veered to the right, headed straight for the filthy Galveston water. "We're gonna have to jump!" Carly yelled. The Johnson kids opened their doors, and each attempted a roll as they jumped out, but Carly's roll was much better. The two got up, as the dream machine drove straight into the water. Carly got up, and seeing the car sinking into the water, said "No, no, no, dad's gonna kill me!" Maurice, irritated, said "Hey, that sounds like something I said half a minute ago. That's right I did say that." "Shut up!" Carly shouted at him.

Gothic City, 2015

As he was standing up, Gaige was already engaging the enemy. Maurice wanted to help with his trusty plasma pistol, but alas, he'd left it in the car that just crashed. It'd come out unscathed, but he didn't have the time to rip apart a car to get it. He didn't have super strength after all. Or much strength to speak of at all, to be honest. With nothing else besides a small Kershaw knife, he decided he should call for back-up. While he was trying to reach the others via commlink, Gaige interrupted him, asking him to "say some snarky movie quote." Not really being the witty type, he said "Um..... You can't handle the truth?" Not his best moment. He looked around for a street sign, and called the street name out on his comm. Hopefully the others would get here soon, because the two of them and Marty seemed to have no idea what they were doing.

Avatar image for crimson_vigilante
#15 Posted by Crimson_Vigilante (874 posts) - - Show Bio

@warboss: @mojohnson: @_gaige_: @bonfire:

Skub was twitchy. Kinda freakin' me out. He had somethin' in those eyes, y'know. He lived to kill. The sooner Skub got his hands on this guy, the better. Crazy greenskin might flip at any moment. "This is Gaige found myself a pyrophillia! North West side of town." Gaige radioed in. Didn't give any more than that, but Maurice soon radioed us the street name. Skub was already to the truck by the time I radioed back. I'd bed money he could already smell the smoke. "Dere's fightin' sumwhere boss! Da burnin's startin'! C'mon, le's go!" Never thought I'd see this truck mounting a gun, but the kinda firepower Skub packed turned this into some military-level transport. This guy was gonna be swiss cheese when we got to him. "Start firing as soon as you see him. We're gonna do what apparently Gaige couldn't and smoke this dude on the road." As thy arrived, Gaige appeared to be at a standoff of sorts with Bonfire, flaming vehicles on one side of them and a flaming police station on the other. Maurice was just kinda standing there. "Gaige, Maurice, coming in real f*cking hot! Skub, fire!" I half expected a molotov cocktail to come crashing though my windshield. This guy wasa god damn maniac, who knew what he would do. I just hoped of all the bullets Skub was spraying, at least one would hit the sonofab*tch. If he got away again Skub would probably off us then and there.

Avatar image for bonfire
#16 Posted by Bonfire (154 posts) - - Show Bio

@warboss: @mojohnson: @crimson_vigilante: @_gaige_:

As he casually destroyed the remains of the car, he took a closer look, now seeing that it was absolutely empty. Whoever had attempted to ram him had evacuated the vehicle beforehand. That must have been one of the factors that had contributed to his survival; without someone's foot on the gas, the vehicle had slowed down enough for him to survive the impact. But now, he had another problem. His attacker had managed to get out of the car, and was likely still gunning for him. He grabbed another vial from his coat, twisting it between his gloved fingers. A lighter was held ready in his other hand. He'd been foolishly distracted by the wreckage, and had neglected to look out for his opponent.

Luckily for him, it seemed subtlety was not her strong suit.

She was standing in the middle of the street, hefting two antique-looking weapons in his direction. He narrowed his eyes, preparing to throw his vial of incendiary liquids, to burn his assailant alive. It was self-defense, after all. She'd attempted to kill him, and now she was threatening him with--

With a loud snap of drawstring hitting wood, a hail of automatic bolts surged in his direction. He ducked his head, suddenly alert and terrified of whatever these weapons were. They looked like antiques, but whatever they were, they were top of the line to be able to send this many shots in his direction at once. Genuine tools that seemed to belong to an ex-supervillain, or someone like one. He howled in pain as one of the bolts embedded itself in his shoe. He rolled over to the side, behind his wrecked car. The weapons weren't very accurate, but they'd forced him to take cover. Fortunately, the darts seemed to have been designed for rapid fire, rather than piercing. He grit his teeth as he yanked the bolt from his now-bleeding foot. Rolling ankle in a circle experimentally, he hobbled into a crouching position, forced to take cover by the hail of darts.

Peeking up over the hood of his beat-up car, he saw another vehicle en route, a massive truck barreling down the road. He heard bullets rip into his car, puncturing the metal and ricocheting off into the street. Glass shattered from the store window in front of him, making him raise his hands instinctually. Waiting for the truck to pass, he grasped at his belt, picking up another lighter. He'd dropped his vial in the street when he'd been shot, hearing it roll around. After the massive truck had passed (without a doubt about to return), he dove into the street, tossing the bottle up into the air towards the crossbow-wielding bitch who had shot him in the foot. With the hand of an expert baseball pitcher, he threw the lighter towards her legs, small flame spinning through the air. Hopefully, the very ground she stood on would be set alight, if not her own body.

Avatar image for warboss
#17 Posted by Warboss (401 posts) - - Show Bio

@bonfire:

No Caption Provided

Some might have called it the strangest night they ever witnessed. A pyromaniac facing down a crossbow-wielding vigilante and an Ork in the back of a truck driven by someone he called "boss oomie." That wasn't even the half of it in retrospect. The Ork in question had long ago leaned up against the top of the cab, fixing the iron sights of his shoota on whatever or whoever managed to stick their ugly mugs between them. Luckily for the team, he didn't pull the trigger at the nearest granny or other innocent bystander. After all, Crimson was driving too fast.

No, instead, he bore down on the first face he saw clearly after Crimson's rampant misuse of the gas pedal. Speed limits were for pansies, and red ones always go faster. Boss knew that, though, and Skub started to think Crimson was more Orky than he let on. He did wear lots of red, so he had to know what he was doing. The Boy kept the barrel of his shoota trained on the man he could only figure to be the "bad guy" or, in his words, the "git wot needed krumpin'" considering he recognizing (albeit barely) the other one walking up the street.

The wild rate of fire from his shoota could only be described as an abusive waste of cartridges by trained gunmen and snipers, but what the Ork lacked in accuracy he more than made up for in sheer number of bullets fired and the terrible noise that ensued. Screaming in sheer happiness at the fiery tongues leaping out of the barrel, the Ork didn't budge an inch until the shoota clicked empty. By then, the truck the pyromaniac managed to hide behind was little more than a hole-riddled wreck. The tires were shredded, the glass all but obliterated, and each layer of paint peeled off by pure virtue of the mathematically insane amount of pockmarks and dents made in the metal. Some bullets actually managed to penetrate the hull, only barely, but the effectiveness of the attack was clear. Skub sighed with a hefty amount of relief. He had finally managed to unleash some of his pent-up aggression towards everything in front of him.

"Time fer round two, eh boss?"

Clicking a new ammo belt into the shoota, Skub laughed as maniacally as an inpatient at Bedlam Asylum - except, in the case of his bloodthirsty people, he was completely healthy.

"WAAAGH! Dakka dakka dakka dakka!"

Avatar image for mojohnson
#18 Posted by MoJohnson (65 posts) - - Show Bio

@crimson_vigilante: @bonfire: Maurice was trying to find a way to help Gaige and Marty, but without his plasma pistol, he was basically useless, and he knew it. It was a good thing he radioed for backup, because he could already hear Crimson's truck coming in the distance. "Gaige, Maurice, coming in real f*cking hot! Skub, fire!" he heard from his radio, as Crimson and Skub appeared, with Skub firing an unholy amount of bullets at the arsonist, filling the streets with the sound of gunfire.

He saw that the arsonist seemed to be paying attention to everyone else, and not him. No one was paying attention to him. Perfect. Maurice decided to try sneaking around behind the arsonist with his Kershaw knife. He wasn't the stealthy type, really, but he was banking on going unnoticed combined with the commotion being enough that it wouldn't matter. He snuck up behind the arsonist, and stabbed downwards at the psychopath's collarbone, hoping the arsonist didn't notice him.

Avatar image for _jericho
#19 Edited by _Jericho (193 posts) - - Show Bio

@crimson_vigilante:

Get up.

No Caption Provided

@warboss: @mojohnson: @_gaige_: @bonfire:

It's time to go.

He listened to himself, rising slowly from his seat in this dark room. It was the most idle time he'd had in a while, used to rest. To wait. And now that time was up. The street stirs and the night beckons. He looked about, deciding what it was he'd bring. The most vital thing is the blood. If he doesn't have the blood, it won't work. He had to be careful however. One thing astray and everything would go to waste. And that just woudn't do. On his way out, all he picked up was a hand M67 hand grenade and a baseball bat, and shut the door behind him.

All he had to do was follow the arrows, and he was lead to his destination. He walked along a roof, looking down upon the scene. Bullets soaring, fire burning, men walk, arrows filling the air. Another night in Gothic, but a special one with special plans. Right on time, a police helicopter appeared, with police soon to follow in suit. He wanted them here. He told them to come here. He wanted them to see his message written in blood.

And thus, he tossed grenade up and down in his palm looking at the helicopter, as it had shone it's light down on the group, the declaration of "DROP YOUR WEAPONS. NOW!" Echoing throughout the air. Jericho took a stance, that of an athlete. Of a professional baseball pitcher as the grenade's pin hits the ground. He waits a few moments before he lets it loose. The grenade explodes near the helicopters propeller and staggers it, as it begins to spin.

I see you.

Jericho ran jumped from the rooftop, falling two stories and breaking the fall with a roll. Landing with discomfort as he slid forward fluently and ran again before he blocked the knife with the bat, it stabbing through it with Jericho holding the thing. "Now now, you'll have to forgive me. I can't let you spoil this just yet." Jericho says, his eyes locked intently on Maurice. He didn't sound angry, he didn't blame him for doing what he did. Nor did he blame the arsonist. No one was really at fault, in his eyes. He bobs his head backward, and then a bullet whirs by from the green fellow down the street. But Jericho was too busy pushing Maurice off to evade the round that struck him in the side of his hip. He could only in actuality shift it into an area that wasn't vital. But from this point onward, Jericho hardly needed to do a thing.

The helicopter began to spiral, becoming loose, and then a very slight *Ching* was overpowered by the sound of the rudder for a few moments before the Helicopters rudder came completely off. The helicopter didn't float down, as it more so dropped straight out of the air. Threatening to crush the Orc under a ton and a half of metal falling straight from the sky.

The second portion of the "Attack" stemmed from the helicopter's rudder, which upon becoming disattached from the copter, flew threw the air like some giant frisbee. It flew at an abnormal angle before actually coming back around and just barely missing Jericho as flew overhead and tilted to now along the ground like a wheel, tearing up solid concrete as went, cleaving one car in two as it threatened to do the same to both Gaige and "The Crimson vigilante" as it went.

Jericho stared at Maurice as he bled from the side, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out....a piece of folded paper. Tossing it off to the arsonist behind. His eyes ever locked on Maurice as sirens grew gradually louder.

Avatar image for _gaige_
#20 Posted by _Gaige_ (992 posts) - - Show Bio

@bonfire: @warboss: @mojohnson: @_jericho: @crimson_vigilante:

Forty arrows, she managed to hit the foot once. Thirty nine other projectiles were made useless. This led to Liz being phenomenally irritated. She thought she had him, that it'd be an epic first kill all she got though was a bit of blood from injuring a foot. And from there things got progressively worse and worse. Wasn't long before the scene exploded with life as many people made themselves known. It started with a migraine from a thunderous noise hammering in her brain.

A cry for war barely heard over the sound of a really large and brutally loud gun. Wielded by the ork the sound was brutal on the senses, and that was saying something for someone who loved to listen to rock and metal as loud as she could. Her companion takes the moment of noise and confusion to try and get the drop on the pyromaniac. This meant Gaige couldn't use ranged tactics anymore. Her aim was not good enough to avoid risking Maurice own life in crossfire. Ranged tactics were gone. At some point there also came sirens, because of course it had to be the one day GCPD was efficient.

Enter a newcomer and Maurice's knife is stopped, but not before a loud crack hailing from a grenade. A helicopter is taken out, and the hooded cosplay rogue smells something burning. Looking down she finds her arm is on fire, well her costumes jacket is. Rushing to get the thing off doing her best to not be distracted by the yelling and shooting and crashing. In her moment of saving her skin from being burned however she doesn't see the piece of metal coming off the defeated helicopter.

A loud crack, a rag doll effect and Gaige finds herself on the pavement arm broken, ceramic costume armor shattered. This wasn't turning out to be as fun as she had thought and now her body couldn't help but shake a bit from the pain. Letting one crossbow rest on her hip she reloaded the other, holding it in crippled hand which didn't want to move much. Her free hand went for her knife drawing the stylized blade as the cosplay vigilante got to her feet. She charged forward, her movements mundane and simple. She wasn't some athletic PyroKitten or swift Flashfire. Once near her attack was just as simplistic in design.

The bat wielding grenade pitcher didn't look particularly armored or resilient. Of course she had no idea who she was up against or how right or wrong she was. The plan was simple however, to attempt to dump twenty arrows in the psychopaths back. The move was followed with a step forward and a crude slash of the knife. Her blade was looking to rip open the throat of the pyrophilliac. But there was nothing grand about it just a knife going for the jugular. There was no martial artistry or knife training in the cosplayer's resume.

Avatar image for bonfire
#21 Posted by Bonfire (154 posts) - - Show Bio

@bonfire: @warboss: @mojohnson: @_jericho: @crimson_vigilante:

He stood silent as chaos erupted around him, the noises of war filling his ears. A police helicopter, having arrived on the scene, had attempted to make sense of the entropic disaster unfolding before them, fires now licking the surrounding buildings. His formula was uncanny, derived from Janice's own powers. He'd studied her day and night, learning all he could about her ability, the ability he would use to give her solace in her passing.

The explosions above resounded through the chaotic night, windows shattering from the shockwave. Glass rained upon them like sharp, lethal snowflakes, fizzling and sparking upon the burning earth beneath. Bodies fell from the charred, spinning vehicle, which was itself in the process of crashing. Debris was all over the place, tearing through man and machine alike, propelled by the explosion across the entire block. Flames from the wreckage would ignite Lee's mixtures, threatening to set the entire neighborhood ablaze. Left unchecked...Gothic would burn once more.

Screams filled his ears, warcries from his aggressors mixing with the heaving, panicked yells of his victims. As a small, white paper floated to the bright red pavement at his feet, he reached a peaceful state, a clarity unmatched since the death of his beloved. Tears of joy welled upon his scarred face as the smoke climbed high into the night, choking the life from birds and bats that dared to fly above him.

It was as he stood in satisfied silence, a statue-like form surrounded by anarchy, that he heard the girl's battlecry, a bloodcurdling scream of a malcontented, unbalanced millennial, who would apparently stop at nothing to put an end to his life. He saw the knife coming at him through the smoke, blade reflecting the orange and red sparks now cascading from nearby buildings. The entire block was ablaze, the foundations of the entire district beginning to weaken. The city was giving all it had, resisting his ever-spreading artificial hellfire.

The woman advanced on the solemn simulacrum of a man, arm raised, knife poised to kill. He watched her come at him in slow motion, eyes following the sharp utensil that had been repurposed into a tool of death. He opened his mouth to cry out, silenced as the blade tore through his collar into his jugular. She'd had to come close to him for such a stab, her face mere inches from his goggles. The blade sank deeper, blood spurting graphically from his open wound, covering the American flag on his face. He gurgled behind his mask, eyes bugging and adrenaline seeping through his veins as he breathed his last. But he would not go quietly into the night, oh no; as his final act, he would take her with him.

As viscera poured from his horrible wound, he used the last of his strength to wrap his arms around the woman, pulling her into his torso with stiffening hands. His practiced exercise regimen and masculine physique would finally serve a purpose, as his waning strength was used to embrace his assailant. He pressed her into the vials strapped upon his chest with the last of his might, hearing them crunch open. Incendiary fluid covered them both, stickier than napalm, already sizzling due to the ambient, overpowering heat. It mixed with the blood from his grievous, fatal neck wound, seeping across his arms, dripping upon the ground.

And for his final action, with his last breath, he flicked open the lighter one last time, attempting to set them both ablaze. With such a concentrated amount of Janice's incendiary mixture coating them both, the resulting explosion could take out the entire block, incinerating all within.

And so, with that, Lee Walker died, flame pressing upon his form, determined to take his killer with him. He would end her life, tonight; whether or not she survived was irrelevant. His last victim would never be the same again, seared and burnt by his dying flame. His eyes closed as he bled out, knife drawing the last of his blood, body aflame. Then he was gone, the reaction complete, the explosion deafening.

Hello, Jani-

Avatar image for _gaige_
#22 Edited by _Gaige_ (992 posts) - - Show Bio

@bonfire: @warboss: @mojohnson: @_jericho: @crimson_vigilante:

Liz had only ever wanted to be a prop designer to work on movies. She wanted to be apart of movies like Starwars and Lord of the Rings, her favorite show Face Off on Syfy. Hours and hours went by on anime and video games. Nothing absorbed more time though then crafting, the artistry of recreating icons of cinema and the traditional world they lived in. In Gothic though getting picked up for anything glamorous was an impossibility. She was reduced to mediocrity of a bed lacking someone else and a dead end job. Mad at the world she turned he hobby into a means to fight back, but no crusade would last for her. For Elizabeth Gaige her motives were just a way to vent frustration. And in this world of costumed freaks it took more then anger issues to go the difference.

All sound falls away, almost mesmerizing in it's clarity. For all the loud and furious content around in that final rush gradually all else fell to the sidelines. Her focus just on her knife and targeted jugular, nothing else mattered but racing heart and lust for crimson fluids. A smile was worn, the Camanche war cry of her own was over no need to yell or be filled with rage she'd have her moment. Then it comes the blade finds skin and the resistance is surprisingly minimal. Almost serene how easy it was to split flesh, and that beautiful arc of red paints Lizy's face. The fluid warm, it's smell bitter she'd taken a life and she had to say she kind of liked it. Completing the road of Gothic life in Lizy's eyes.

In Gothic you lived, at some point you got f'd over, then came the turn to vigilantism to crime, and finally ending in the act of being someone's victim.

A life had been taken by her hands, shirt soaked in blood and she found her cosplay was soaking it in as well. Liz found herself being embraced and rather satisfied she returned the favor. She couldn't escape he was stronger even then, might as well embrace it. Waiting was short, a click as a lighter sparked it's small flame, with it came a chemical reaction and a blinding light. Flesh went black in an instant. A crater formed in her gut blown apart by the sudden combustion. Flesh blowed in the wind flaking off as it turned a charcoal black. The fabric mealted to the muscle tissue in some places and burned away in others. Smile faded as flesh and muscle burned into obscurity, recognition of who she was before was erased when it came to looks.

And that was it, the first Gaige of the Crimson Blades was also first to die. Her name likely to miss the headlines. Just another girl who ended up dead in Gothic. And she died okay with that, because at the least she put a stop to someone who needed out down. A worthless life as she saw it was gone to take out a criminal the Children of the Damned Champions and so on didn't think worth their time.

Avatar image for crimson_vigilante
#23 Edited by Crimson_Vigilante (874 posts) - - Show Bio

"Oh, shit!" I look back and I see a chopper go down before my eyes, and some bastard in a pig mask looking at me from a rooftop? What, did Pyro freakshow bring friends or somethin'? Not that that question matters at the moment, considering the chopper's disembodied blades are coming right for us. Either Pighead is the luckiest basard in the world, or this ain't his first rodeo. Whatever the case, I hit the brakes. The blades went right over me, nice and easy. Didn't stop them from tearing up the roads and some more cars though. "Skub, hold your fire!" We were just turning to make our second pass when it happened. Bonfire just went nuclear, and there's no telling who that psychopath just blew away. The entire block flashed orange for a second. I could hear the blast form here, and then everything went quiet. Just crackling fire, breaking glass, car alarms, and police sirens. They'd just now made it here. "You see that freak in the pig mask, blast him. Otherwise, keep on alert. Bonfire's gone, we need to regroup and get the hell out of here." We drove slower this time, looking for something, anything really. I doubted there were any survivors. Gaige, Maurice, and Pighead were all probably black smears on the pavement. Wouldn't doubt any cops in the area are on the ground with bleeding ears and back full of glass either. As we pulled up, it was carnage. Toppled streetlights, burning buildings down the entire block, even the street had a layer of fire over the top from whatever that Pyromaniac had splattered all over the place. The crashed chopper layed in the middle of the street, flaming like everything else. The first buildings to get lit up were crumbling on themselves at this point. I guess they didn't send the fire department out of fear of being exploded. The police had no such luck. The cars were abandoned, sirens blaring, windows blasted out, doors wide open. The offices were nowhere to be found, but there were a few shards of bloody glass scattered about. The radios in the cars were silent. Then we saw the man himself. Fire retardant hoodie actually did it's job. It was the only identifiable thing left of him by the time we got there. He cooked in the thing. Still was. The body wasn't done burning yet. Make that bodies. Wouldn't ya know it. A charred corpse with a melted plastic coating. Nice and shiny, as far as explosively disemboweled corpses go. "God damnit. Let's find Maurice and get out of here." First night out and we'd already had our first casualty. Hopefully not a second. After we pulled Maurice (or, more likely, his corpse), out of whatever burning wreckage he had almost certainly ended up in, we'd be radioing back to the majority of the team who inexplicably went M.I.A. and regrouping at Gaige's apartment. Might as well. I doubt she'd mind some houseguests in her current state. We'd get back, and figure out how we're dealing with Pighead.

Or, at least that was the plan. Until this happened.

"Oh shit."

S.W.A.T. Teams rolled in in armored vans, wearing full combat gear and automatic rifles. "Hands behind your head, get down on the ground!" Both ends of the street blocked in seconds. Only chance was to make a run for an alley and hope I didn't burn. I'd get the others later. Now was time to run. Skub would no doubt open fire in seconds. That's how he goes down, I guess. Should keep them distracted long enough for me to get somewhere. More choppers in the sky. I'd just wait for the sound of gunfire, kick open the door, and make a run for it. Only way this could go worse is Pighead catching me in this alley. Probably too busy hucking grenades at choppers, but, if he does.....

.....I know where to hit him where it hurts.
.....I know where to hit him where it hurts.

Avatar image for _jericho
#24 Posted by _Jericho (193 posts) - - Show Bio

He held his bat at his shoulders, leisurely waiting for Maurice to make a move. To make the first move. But then, he hold himself something else.

She comes, seeking to strike unseen.

Jericho turned around, and indeed, there she was. The girl sought to attack him with only a single arm, a tenacity that Jericho admired, but it only sought to delay the envitable. He performed similiarly to how he would when they sent literal armed squads, entire S.W.A.T teams after him that he'd before slaughtered. He twirled around with his baseball bat simultaneously on the move, deflecting arrows that would have hit him in his chest bar one that hit him in his arm, and causing it to go limp. The rest however, found their move in the front of the car the man of many masks had hid behind.

He takes a moment, dropping his baseball bat and twisting the arrow, with a precision and knowledge his own body, that it takes him on a second to remove it, and he does so without drawing any blood, as Jercho's precision extended to far more than to simply shooting and throwing things. It extended to striking, to surgery. His resistance and outright, seemingly pleasure to pain meant he would gladly perform surgery upon himself if needed, and indeed, he has. He dropped the arrow to the ground but could not pick up the bat in time before she got within range.

He looked into Gaiges eyes, blood. His blood. Trickling down the blade towards her hand. His hand was on her wrist and his strength was great. Enough for the seemingly lanky man to in actuality overpower people who were over 50 pounds heavier than he was with the utmost of ease. But, the blade struck. Just not on it's mark. It stabbed into the side of the mask, piercing the cheek. The taste of iron in his mouth, as the tip of the blade was ticking his tongue. Slowly, he pushed away from her hand, the blade slowly exiting his mask. He stared deeply into Gaige's eyes.

"So much pain. Such fire. This city breeds many like you. This place, this world that has been created, is unworthy of you. Unworthy of many. But do not worry, you will know some semblance of peace. Soon, it will all be over."

He deflected her now, dodging further Strike's as she soon went for another. Lunging for another. The man of fire he had spoken of before. He'd watched the scene, her landing the successful strike, the embrace, the lighter. It was all becoming clear now.

Police surrounded them, and Jericho simply slowly, and calmly, backed away. He did not run. He did not hide. He simply backed away at just the right distance. The police had arrived, surrounding them and aiming their weapons. Shouting something Jericho didn't understand because his hearing had all but focused on the scene between the two. The subtle lighter's flick was all he had really heard. The eyes of the police had widened, growing large as the slowly came to a realization of what was to come. They dived for cover. All the while, Jericho simply stood there.

The blast from the distance was like running face first into a brick wall. The explosion was extravagent and fiery, which meant that it in actuality had more of detonation due to it's primarily incendiaries components. The police saw for a moment as the man flew back however, like a doll. His body hit their car with enough force to leave a rather significant and noticeable dent in it, as he thumped to the floor by the strike that had in essence rag dolled him. His flesh seared, his body inert.

Police raised their heads as they looked about the scene. The explosion having shattered near by windows and at this range, simply put, the epicenter would have left nothing within it's center.

A merciful, and painless death.

Jericho thought, the police picking him up, and bringing the dangerous and wanted criminal to be hospitalized. Feeling the arms rushing his limp body along so that he could stand proper trial for his crimes or simply be locked away to never see the light of day ever again, he had thought about what had just occurred. He'd always had to "de-encrypt" his inner voice. It told of what was to come, and it was never truly wrong. However, it was vague, and easily misinterpreted. He'd theorized this was because some things are simply, not written in stone. It seemed like such a waste. He'd never get to read the note, and he would never get to know the joy of seeing the city consumed.

He had no idea if that was what were to truly come to fruition. The city becoming wreathed in flames as he'd always dreamed of his accord. Not only this, but perhaps the rest of the putrid earth they inhabited. It should simply be burned. Jericho wanted the rapture to come. And it would come in fire. Flames that would wreath the earth itself in flames greater than the core of a star. Followed by an aura of death that would enshroud terra as known.

This city, the one people had left to die. The no man's land. The deadzone. The place nobody cared for? This place deemed insignificant? was where the first step was to be taken.

This city. This world. Must burn.

Avatar image for mojohnson
#25 Edited by MoJohnson (65 posts) - - Show Bio

@_gaige_: @crimson_vigilante: @_jericho:

Maurice was overwhelmed. First the fire, then the car crash, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. To be honest, Maurice to this day couldn't tell you everything that took place within what was likely five or ten minutes. He had tried to take out the arsonist stealthily, when he was interrupted by a man in a pig mask, who made quite the entrance. Maurice wasn't watching, but with the grenade, and the helicopter pieces flying everywhere, he knew it had to be the pig man who had just intercepted the thrusting of his Kershaw. The pig psycho waited, staring at Maurice, daring him to strike with his eyes, but Maurice was too terrified to do anything. There were many moments in the past in which Maurice didn't know the meaning of the word fear. In which he would die before his family would be harmed. But oddly enough, when he needed to protect himself, those instincts would not help him. He was most certainly afraid of this bat-bearing brute, and at first he froze. He tried to think of strikes he thought would work, but he couldn't work himself up to engage the masked maniac. Finally, the intimidation was too much for Maurice. He turned away, and he ran. He didn't know how his comrades would fare, and at that moment, he didn't care. He was going to survive the only way he knew how.

But as he was running, an enormous blast from behind him carried him forward, and he landed on his arm in quite an unnatural and disgusting position. Because of his cowardice, he had escaped the deadly part of the blast, but had nasty burns on several parts of his body, and a right arm broken in four places. He laid on the ground in agony for what seemed like ages, until finally, he lost conciousness. When he finally woke up, the group was arriving at Gaige's apartment. They were about to get inside when S.W.A.T. showed up. "Hands behind your head, get down on the ground!" they demanded. Only able to put his left hand on his head, due to his right arm being broken, he shouted "My right arm's broken!" As he put his left hand on his head, and kneeled on the ground. He wasn't about to get into a second conflict. With his knees on the ground, Maurice thought "Why did I agree to this? I can't go to jail! This is bad, this is bad, this is bad!"