Jack_'s forum posts

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#1 Posted by Jack_ (2451 posts) - - Show Bio


I'm sure everything will work out just fine!
I'm sure everything will work out just fine!

Killing Wolverine won't make me stop riddling your tower with bullets!

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#2 Posted by Jack_ (2451 posts) - - Show Bio

@the_shogun: Well, Desmond does have a high-school education, so he'll be just fine against you guys...

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#3 Posted by Jack_ (2451 posts) - - Show Bio

@the_shogun: That's an awfully nice tower you got there. It'd be a right shame if a cursed Scotsman happened to fire some bullets into it...

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#4 Posted by Jack_ (2451 posts) - - Show Bio
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#5 Posted by Jack_ (2451 posts) - - Show Bio

@the_shogun: Well, Shootout's here too, and he's gunning for you.


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#6 Posted by Jack_ (2451 posts) - - Show Bio

Devil's Gamble: 16 minutes ago

At precisely the same time the man known only as The Rumor was beginning his investigation into the beginning of the so-called Shadow Wars, a cursed Scotsman was sitting across the table from one of the most notorious crime heads of the East Coast. Wearing one of the expensive suits they seemed to love so much, he concealed his face under a wide-brimmed hat, but Desmond had a good feeling it was "King" Mancione, a (dis?)reputable gentleman who just happened to have quite an interest in Gothic City.

"Desmond McLeod. What a pleasure to finally meet you in person. The most exciting assassin in the world, after all, and apparently a true riot to watch in action. I don't often associate with meta-men like you...but I've heard you guys can be pretty useful. Besides...I've got another guy. Not quite unlike you. Claims he can see into the future...he gets 'hunches,' you see. And he just had one a week ago."

Gesturing to the outside window, King indicated that Gothic had just gone dark. "Looks like Conti's just made his move, right on schedule. Or at least, whoever Hunch-Lad says has replaced Conti. Either way...kill whoever's responsible for this. Our precognitive says that they'll take over everything if someone doesn't get in their way. I've heard you're pretty good at what you do, and pretty loud about it too."

"Aye," murmured the cursed Scot. Wincing behind his goggle for answering the mobster with such a cliche "Scottish" word, he silently berated himself. Aye? Why would you say aye? Bloody idiot. His head was enclosed within the metal helmet, his body surrounded by the mystic mesh he called the Devil's Spandex. Granted to him by the Devil himself, he thought, or someone impersonating him.

"Tell me, Mister McLeod...how exactly does your power work? I've heard the gist...but it doesn't quite add up in my mind. The bullets...they just...?"

"Show up in the magazine, yeah. I keep my finger on the trigger, the bullets keep streaming out. That's all I know. Quite a sight to see."

The mobster whistled. "Sounds like you're the perfect man for the job, Mister McLeod. Or, I suppose, being that you're hired, I should call you Shootout."

Conti's Tower: The Present

Desmond eyed the tower across the street, standing upon his own skyscraper. Rain had begun falling, dripping against the windows, blurring the figures behind the glass and steel. He wasn't a meta-human per se; rather, a man who'd apparently sold his soul for power. Power in the form of as many bullets as he could shoot, a mystic costume that protected him from injury, and a bag that held just about any gun conceivable. The bag would gift him different weapons at different times; once or twice he'd gotten a futuristic laser gun of sorts, and on occasion he'd been screwed over when he pulled out a water pistol. He crossed his fingers, reaching deep into the duffel bag, feeling around for the handle of whatever firearm the Devil saw fit to arm him with...

His eyes widened as his hand closed around something big. Reaching in with his other hand, his grin widened as he felt the handle, feed, rotary box, and long barrel...

He stood up, a fully-formed gatling gun in his arms. Laughing to himself, he turned to face Conti's tower, giant weapon held out in front of him, bag slung over his back.

"OI, CONTI! THEY'RE GONNA HAVE TO GLUE YOU BACK TOGETHER...IN HELL!" he cried as the barrel began to spin. Seconds later, a hail of bullets ripped from the front of the barrel, a potentially infinite stream of cursed lead on its way across the block and into Conti's tower. The bullets (7.62 mm to be precise) would rip through the windows, walls, and furniture, tearing through anything they touched. And so long as he kept his cursed finger on the trigger, he could keep shooting forever.

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#7 Posted by Jack_ (2451 posts) - - Show Bio

@the_shogun: Here's what I'm thinking: Shootout is involved directly in the events of the RP, and the Rumor is on the outskirts, providing a different viewpoint.

His powers can make character interaction difficult. I only realized this after making him like half a year ago...

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#8 Posted by Jack_ (2451 posts) - - Show Bio

@the_shogun: I think the majority of my "arc" will be his investigation of the events going on in the thread.

I'm also considering bringing Shootout into this, but I'm not a fan of having two or more of my characters involved in the same story. What do you think?

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#9 Edited by Jack_ (2451 posts) - - Show Bio

@the_shogun: Thanks. I've posted; feels good to have an excuse to use a relatively weak but badass character.

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#10 Edited by Jack_ (2451 posts) - - Show Bio

Gothic Harbor

Rain. Neverending rain. That was the way it always seemed to be in Gothic City. Even if it wasn't actually always raining, the sun never seemed to shine. Storm clouds always gathered over the dismal urban sprawl, reflected alongside the neon lights in the puddles that lined the gutters. There was a storm coming.

"Yo, Hector. Keep your head up," growled the leader of the small contingent of suit-wearing criminals. They were the professionals, the best in the business, employed by Don Conti himself. They'd been ordered to monitor a new shipment of illicit materials, scheduled to arrive any moment. "After all, you don't want The Rumor to getcha, Hec," he guffawed.

"Don't joke about sh*t like that, man," mumbled Lennie, another member of the crew. He began fidgeting with his gun, rotating it, passing it back and forth between his gloved hands. "That f****r's crazy. We ain't talkin' Dark Vengeance nuts...he's a psychopath. Kick your teeth out, man. You know what they say about 'im?"

The group leader, Sal, laughed, sucking on a cigarette. "Yeah, yeah. They say if you see him, you don't remember. 'Less he wants you to, of course. Don't get suckered into believing that crap, Len," he said with a chuckle. "He might be real, but he's nothin' more than a bum in a trench coat and a hat. Don't got no 'meta powers' or anything. Just keep an eye out for the cops we haven't paid off yet," he murmured, fingering his shotgun trigger absentmindedly.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, casting four ominous shadows across the ground. Hector turned around, brow furrowed.

"Yo, Sal...where'd Vic go?" There was no sign of the paranoid thug. "Probably had to take a piss, Hec. Shut up and keep a lookout."

Another flash of lightning lit up the sky. Shadows danced once again across the walls and dirty streets. There were three this time. A memory of terrible violence, of pure, inexplicable horror passed through Hector's mind...then it passed, as quickly as it had come. Forgotten.

"Yo, Sal...where'd Vic go?" Silence.

"Heh...probably had to take a piss," suggested a nearby figure, leaning casually against the wall. He wore a trench coat and a brown fedora, and his face was obscured heavily by the shadows.

"Whoa, WHOA! How long you been there, bro? You just move along, if you know what's best for you." He kept his pistol concealed under his coat, small beads of sweat forming on his fingers and forehead.

"Don't you want to know what happened to your friends Sal and Vic?" offered the voice, the man gesturing for him to come closer.

"Uh...mm...tell me and leave. Just...just get the f*** out of here man..."

"You know what'd be even better, Hector? I'll show you," he bellowed charismatically, swinging a crowbar from behind his back directly into the mobster's head.

Shunk. It was the sound a piece of titanium metal made when it made contact with a human skull. Hector crumpled to the ground, the vengeful figure standing over him. A pedestrian watched, his mouth agape with horror.

The Rumor waved happily to him.

The moment the man ran to the pay phone around the corner to contact the authorities, he forgot everything he had just witnessed. Furrowing his brow and wondering what he was doing in a phone booth, he left, continuing on his path to his house.

The man called The Rumor returned the crowbar to the inner folds of his coat. He adjusted his mask, a simple cloth cover that concealed the entirety of his face. He had no need to protect his identity; he just used it to keep the viscera out of his eyes. He'd been taking an even more proactive stance against organized crime in particular, especially the Conti family. He'd picked up on new machinations involving the Gothic families throughout his little outings, stories of potential uprisings and changes in the power of the families.

There's a storm coming alright, he thought as he walked casually away into the Gothic alleyways, just as the first drops of rain started falling upon his shoulders.