Fantasy New Oasis: Four Heavenly Kings — The B-Sides

[YumenoTsukishiro]

CHIYOME

SCENE:

Growing Pains

TIME:

Post-Outbreak || July 15th, 2022

LOCATION:

East District

PARTICIPANTS:

Xuefeng, Jackson, Kanna

GROWING PAINS

In the end, not only did Chiyome get the karaage she wanted, but she also got two dango sticks, some grilled squid, and of course an order of takoyaki, courtesy of the Jack of the Dragons. That last item, Chiyome almost didn’t accept, but in the end she decided the shame of rejecting Kanna’s hospitality was greater than the indignity of having someone else pay for her food. She chewed on the last savory octopus ball of her order, the heat of the freshly cooked snack coming out of her mouth as wisps of ephemeral steam.

The familiar flavors tugged at memories buried deep in the recesses of her quiet rage, of idyllic days filled with the fluttering of sakura blossoms and the laughter of innocent childhood. Would that she was back in those days once more, when the fire hadn’t kissed her all over, when despair hadn’t wrung every bit of joy from her soul, when there was more to her existence than the pursuit of revenge…

Her blood boiled. Quite literally. She felt it, hotter than the takoyaki, liquid fury rushing through her veins, beneath her skin. It roared in her ears, beating hard like the drums of war. Her vision was painted with the red of an ashen sky. The group stopped somewhere, she could no longer tell. She closed her eyes shut. She breathed deeply through her nose.

In, four seconds, stillness, four seconds, out, four seconds, stillness, four seconds. Repeat. Two times. Three. Four.

Not yet. It wasn’t her time yet. She needed to find him first. Only then could she let herself go. Only then could she come see her sister once more.

Her blood cooled. Her heart slowed to a steady pace. Chiyome exhaled, her breath coming out like steam from a teapot. She opened her eyes once more, hoping that nobody in their group noticed. The shame of showing any hint of weakness was something she could not abide, and she would rather die than have her superiors consider her a liability.

Chiyome saw that they were among a crowd gathered around a table with a rather loud man and a strange-looking box. Xuefeng was there, eyes wide open in childlike wonder. Hanako would’ve loved it here. Maybe she would’ve been friends with Xuefeng. Such wishful thinking had no purpose, but she indulged herself. Wishful thinking and memories were all she had.

Tags: Elenion Aura FabulousTrash BriiAngelic

 

[WhiskeyMarten]

HECTOR MOSES

CS Link

SCENE:

You Know The Rules, And So Do I

LOCATION:

Some Park, Central District

PARTICIPANTS:

Eric, Hector

YOU KNOW THE RULES, AND SO DO I

”Bad foresight on your part then.”

The pair tussled for a minute, now closer than ever. In a stark contrast to their previous flashy displays of potential, things were more serious now. Eric eager to arrest Hector, and Hector desperate to keep up resistance. Blinded by the light, Hector scratched and kicked aimlessly at the cop, using his metal to add more weight to his blows, trying to compensate for his weakness in recent weeks. He just had to rely on timing now. Hurry up…

The sound of approaching footsteps was heard, and then shouting.

”FREEZE!”

”PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM.”

Hector didn't have to look away from Eric - his vision had returned to an extent - to know that there were multiple guns pointed at him. If they were plain old guns, it wouldn't be too big a deal. If they were all NPs, it would be laughably pathetic. But he didn't know what kind of weaponry the cops had, and he didn't know how strong they were.

”This is between-” He was forced to pause so he could breathe. ”Me and him. Stay out of it.”

Not a very convincing argument, of course. The cops slowly closed in on the fight until one was close enough that he could interfere.

*Wham!*

Something silver flew past Hector and Eric’s heads. It wasn't one of Hector’s creations this time, but it went too fast to recognize until it collided with the cop’s face, sending him stumbling back. He froze in place for a moment, stunned, before falling backward, a wrench on the ground next to him.

“I know that ain’t too ladylike of me. Forgive me, boys.”

On the opposite end of the field, a lady smirked, recalling the wrench to her hand as she strolled towards the fight.

NPC Profile - Lacey Renshaw
Alias: No known aliases
Gang: Scarlet Phoenixes
Potential: WRENCH - This potential equips the user with a wrench that is incredibly destructive to inorganic materials. The user can recall the wrench at will!
Bio: Lacey is the alleged girlfriend of Hector Moses. She is known to the police via her older brother, Carter, who died in the line of duty.

”Lacey!? Good timing.”

Hector looked behind him, leaving himself momentarily open.

“We’re right here too, Pharaoh.”

The shorter man sprinted ahead of the other Phoenixes, embracing the fight with his blades poised to strike whatever came at him first.

”Should’ve done my plan.”

Despite the charge forward, he didn’t seem too comfortable with all the eyes on him.

NPC Profile - ???
Alias: Secret Blade
Gang: Scarlet Phoenixes
Potential: NO WITNESSES - This potential heightens the user’s strength, speed, and deadliness, but only when he’s undetected or unexpected.
Bio: One of the youngest and newest recruits, only referring to himself with the alias he gave himself, “Secret Blade”. He’s still finding his footing in the gang, and the world.

”If we did your plan, boss would be in jail and we’d still be finding a bush to hide in.”

The tired man hung back from the group, staring into the distance. It was unclear whether he was studying the scene intensely, or just zoning out. After a moment, he shook his head vigorously, springing back to life.

”Hmm. Oh yeah. Catch!”

He retrieved a small, round object from his pocket and chucked it toward the approaching cops.

”3.. 2.. 1..”

NPC Profile - Ambrus Budai
Alias: WcDonald
Gang: Scarlet Phoenixes
Potential: COMING RIGHT UP - An invaluable potential, if you’re willing to wait. Ambrus can conjure a variety of small objects, but it takes time to conjure the more complex stuff.
Bio: Famously non-chalant. He named himself after the fast food place he met his sponsor in. Lives slowly, works slowly, and is only in it for the money. Killing a guy every now and then beats minimum-wage drudgery, and it means more time with the wife and kids!

 

[tityanya]

𝑵𝒂𝒐𝒎𝒊 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐

CS Link

SCENE:

If Something Tastes Funny, Try It Again

LOCATION:

Central District Club

TIME:

May 6th, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak and Dante

If Something Tastes Funny, Try It Again

It was a testament to how messed up Naomi was that Tak's comment about peeing on her hands, and the word "bitch," didn't result in immediate violence from her. Normally a threat like that would result in a threat back, maybe even a kick of the bathroom stall door. Or a barrage of insults equivalent (in Naomi's mind) to that single word. But instead she just laughed it off, continuing on with her rambling.

Tak spoke up from inside the stall, saying that she could get him a fiber bar and hemorrhoid medicine if she wanted to be helpful, punctuating his words with a kick on the bathroom door. Naomi's lips pursed in a pout. "There's no need to be such a grumpy pants. Let me go find Dante," she pouted, although the reaction was entirely playful. She wasn't sure that she would actually leave to go get what he asked for. There was probably someone somewhere who had snuck in snacks. She just needed to take some!

A loud crashing noise outside the restroom had her jumping nearly ten feet in the air, before laughing at that reaction. "Wow that was loud! I wonder who did that?" Naomi asked, partially to Tak but mostly to the room itself. She was about to leave when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. If she had been sober, she probably would have given the person a glare that said "How dare you touch me?" but instead she put her hand on that hand, a strange smile on her face as she turned around. A blue-haired woman, very intense looking. She probably should have immediately fired off Naomi's "this is a cop" radar, but her synapses weren't firing all the way. Already she had nearly forgotten what her mission was. She was...looking for someone? Maybe?

She laughed at the word "miss," wondering why someone in the bathroom at a club was being so formal. She seemed to realize her own mistake, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. Naomi mirrored the motion, giggling. The question confused Naomi. She didn't take anything out there? Why would this random woman in a bathroom care about that? "Of course I did! It's what everyone came here for, isn't it?" she answered with a laugh. The question of if she was okay did give her a pause, just for a moment. She tried to process the question, but it got swept away faster than she could grasp it. Instead, she was just looking into the woman's icy eyes. "Has anyone ever told you you're like, intimidatingly beautiful?" Naomi asked, the question halfway between flirting and genuine. Without her realizing, the color of her own eyes were starting to slowly change into the same blue as the woman's, starting at the pupil and slowly radiating outwards.

POST NOTES​

((ooc: ))
((Outfit: Red Dress with red high heels))
((Die in the Disco))

Haze- thebigfella

 

[WhiskeyMarten]

DARIUS KENNEDY

CS Link

SCENE:

Dissonant Ichors

LOCATION:

Alleyway, East District

TIME:

Pre-Arc 1: December 21, 2020 -- Dusk

PARTICIPANTS:

Darius, Shen, Raph

DISSONANT ICHORS

His chest tightened, his limbs shook, his breathing stopped. This would be the end of Darius Kennedy, forgotten by all. Maybe God would strike him dead first in an act of mercy, so he wouldn’t have to endure the pain of being eaten. One could only hope. Darius closed his eyes. He saw nothing, none of the sounds around him were registering. The only sense keeping him tethered to the situation was the sour smell of the giant’s breath, but Darius didn’t even have the wherewithal to vomit. He felt giant fingertips brush against him, and then heard a crunch, and then a squelch.

Then the giant made its final sound and blood droplets splattered Darius from head to toe. He gasped, and opened his eyes, probably wishing he hadn’t.

“What-”

Darius took a step back, tripping on his own feet and falling on his butt. He looked up at Raph, and the puzzle pieces connected.

”Fun- You- We killed it…”

He got back to his feet, and brushed the snow off of his body.

”Thank you.”

Then, Darius froze in place again. He remembered the attitude before - this guy was not a friend, even if they were gang-mates. And this was FUN to him? No way.

”I gotta go. Back to HQ. Y’know, to report back to the boss. Bye.” He felt the need to run, the near-constant instinct that he’d been suppressing the entire time, but he stood in place instead. Still frozen from fear? Yes, but he felt obligated to stay, like he needed to be dismissed first. Like he was an unruly student, and Raph his teacher.

 

[Roda the Red]

CHARLIE HUGHES

CS Link

SCENE:

Operation Burning Heartthrob

TIME:

Pre-Arc 1, August 10th 2021

LOCATION:

South District

PARTICIPANTS:

Charlie, Vulken

Operation Burning Heartthrob

Charlie's body swayed gently from side to side, an unassuming move fueled by a mixture of defeat and the alcohol beginning to catch up to him. He didn't need to think too hard on his answer, in fact, his lips felt a little more loose than usual, though he was still far from being outright drunk. "Hm? who you talkin' 'bou-" He spun on his stool once again, eyes following the imaginary trail left by Vulken's claim. His eyes went wide, awestruck by the beauty taking center stage of the boy's sight.







"O-Oh...Yeah, she's...very pretty." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, caught off guard by the unexpected appearance of someone so fitting of his preferences. "You think I stand a chance? No way I'm talkin' about classical music again, though." He raised the shot glass, staring with slight doubt at the strong liquor, then shifted to Vulken, the veteran's confident smirk feeling awfully contagious.

"Alright...Let's do this" The shots clinked together, before being hastily downed by the courageous phoenixes. Taking off from his seat, Charlie proceeded with a questionably fearless gait towards the woman, who had seemingly momentarily retreated from dancing for but a moment.

"Hey there!" He let out, an extremely casual and unremarkable sentence, but carefully chosen after dozens upon dozens of mental rehearsals done by the rookie's brain as he approached the girl. The woman turned around in a characteristically shy slow fashion, her facial expression quickly shifting at the sight of the short man.

"Your dan-"

"Oh my GOD!" chirped the woman, clasping her hands together. Her mysterious outburts startled the young man, his pessimistic state of mind already bracing for the worst to come, his face cringed in crestfallen anticipation.

"Your hair is amazing! It looks so silky, and that color too!" Her eyes focused on the boy's voluminous locks, their signature cerulean color still easy to make out under the colorful lights of the place. Against all espectations, she had interjected with praise, instead. "O-Oh! Uh, thanks, It's a lotta effort but it's worth it." Like a splash of cold water, the unexpectedly successful first step had sobered him up almost completely in the blink of an eye.

"Sorry about that, were you saying something?" She asked, her tone suddenly adopting a more bashful tone, befitting of her starting disposition. "Oh it's okay, just noticed you were dancing just now, you were really good!"

The woman's shoulders lowered, her form a little less uptight than before. "Thanks, though I'm not really used to a place like this." The boy nodded in agreement. "Me neither, my friend pretty much tricked me into coming here, actually." The woman smiled, her hand grabbing onto her opposite arm, caramel-colored nails digging softly into her terse skin. "Now that's a story I've lived before." They giggled, the rookie smiling back afterwards.

"I'm Charlie, nice to meetcha." Woman was quick to respond on her end. "Name's Sara, nice to meetcha too, Charlie...I guess you like dancing too?" The boy shrugged, smiling in defeat. "I know a thing or two, but I've got two left feet."

A steady flow had been established, avoiding to fuck up royally was now the utmost priority.

@Nobody Special

 

[joshuadim]

HITOSHI YAMAKAWA

CS Link

SCENE:

LYRICAL MISERY

TIME:

Pre-Arc 3; Nov 11, 2021

LOCATION:

THE SERENITY - BAR AND EATERY, South District

PARTICIPANTS:

Hitoshi, Hiachi

LYRICAL MISERY

The gears visibly turned in Hitoshi's head as he sorted through the jukebox catalogue that was in his head, and added parameters. First, he took into account the general crowd of the establishment. There was a desperate need of joy to be shoved down their ear canals, even if they didn't desire it out loud. After all, those who suffer are least likely to bring to light their grievances. Then came his partner in crime, and wondered what exactly her music tastes were in the first place. After all, matching that to her would make it work all the better.

However, Hitoshi was confident enough to not even ask as he continued to filter through all songs in his head that he knew by heart by this point. That left three possible candidates for selection. All were honorable, all were suitable, all were ready to tear up the night. And yet he found it impossible to choose... they were all so good. Hitoshi's eye twitched as his brain power strained to come up with a decision. Indecision! It struck at the worst possible time...

But then he realized the truth: it didn't matter as long as they were having fun.

He extended a hand to Hiachi as his grin widened to cover the length of his face. "I know just the beat. We're gonna tear this shit up!"

---

"I'M STILL STANDING~!"
"I'M STILL STANDING~!"​

And tear it up they did, shouting into the mics to meet the pitch of the song's original auteur while shaking and dancing on stage in parallel with the lyrics. And at the song's finale, the bar's crowd went wild with their praises as they hooted and hollered in honor of the dynamic duo that had graced their memories on this very night. Hitoshi took a graceful bow as the praise soaked into his pores, masking the despair that dwelled underneath. He then turned to Hiachi as the two got off stage once more and headed for the bar again.

"Whoo... now that one was a doozy!" the Phoenix commented as he waved to the barkeep for another pair of drinks to be made. "Hah... might've strained a muscle actually..." he then said, wincing as he clutched at his back. The seat at the bar provided immediate relief as he let out a sigh before grabbing hold to a nice cold glass of gin and tonic and let out a soft laugh. "...fuck, I'm glad to have a good night like this..."

miki

 

[Roda the Red]

Keith Sullivan

CS Link

SCENE:

Meet and Grit

LOCATION:

The Third Eye, Central District

TIME:

Morning, July 8th, 2022

PARTICIPANTS:

Peyton, Keith

Meet and Grit

Even the most wrondrous of dreams can easily warp into something closer resembling a nightmare, the detestable serpent slithering his way into his conversation with quite possibly the one person Keith admired the most. He looked so vulnerable, wrapped under the dragon's arm, even his back was completely exposed to the rookie to tear the flesh apart, and do this city a great service.

But by now, Keith's resolve had been tempered beyond what was thought possible before, hammered thoroughly and quenched to achieve a truly unshakeable will. He smiled, his free hand reached for the short man's head, ruffling his hair in a seemingly tender fashion, whereas in reality, his fingertips begged to erupt into razor-sharp metal, and mercilessly dig into that rotting grey matter.

The rookie turned giddy, nay, exhilirated as his book became gilded with a signature of incalculable value, even if such a measurement only came from his perspective. Releasing his grasp on Peyton, one that fortunately never turned bloody in nature, to tenderly hold his copy around his arms. "O-Of course! I cannot wait to read your next book! Thank you so much, Miss Mallick!" With a profuse bow, his feet turned the other direction. It almost felt like an action against his own will, a mental whimper echoing in his mind, wishing he could have stayed and chat with the author for at least a little bit longer. But he knew that attempting something like that was only going to cause trouble, she was a busy woman, and security was very short on patient today.

He spared on last glance at the woman over his shoulder, taciturn steps leading him out of the building alongside Peyton. As if he was being carried by autopilot, Keith continued to join the short man treading on the sidewalk, smiling in serene stupor. "Yeah, it was great, she was so kind..." Slowly, the gears in his head resumed their labor, bringing him to a sudden realization.


_____________________



"Hell yeah! That was sweet! Now, I wonder if I should keep this copy or sell it? Could make a nice profit with it, some suckers are none the wiser, after all." Veronica snickered to herself, her pale skin once again kissed by the potent sunlight. "Huh, wonder were those two went? They were kinda weird." Beginning her way back home, the uncharacteristic woman performed a hasty strut, eventually turning to the right at the corner of the block.

Her body went stiff, eyes wide as plates and jaw agape, almost dropping her purse at the sight of the pair in front of them. Keith's crimson arm, stretched beyond recognition, propelled itself towards Peyton, the latter just barely managing to avoid the unprovoked assault. Ferrous claws pierced the concrete of the wall to Peyton's right, debris and dust falling down as the biotic harpoon disloged itself, leaving a baseball-sized hole that extended beyond as a spiderweb of cracks.

"I WILL SKIN YOU ALIVE, YOU MONGREL!"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

@Coyote Hart

 

[Elenion Aura]

MILO NAGISA

CS Link

SCENE:

Blank Canvas

TIME:

Pre-Arc 3: September 30th, 2021 - 11pm

LOCATION:

South District

PARTICIPANTS:

Milo, Hector

BLANK CANVAS

Milo watched as the two men bickered. He watched as Hector ran, clear as day, to engage the men while they were distracted amongst themselves. Let the record show, whatever came of this, that the Phoenix struck first.

He wished he could say this was a surprising development. Who were these men? Why were they here? Why were they fighting? Questions for which there were no answers.

His thought process was cut short, ducking out of the way of a blade sent whizzing past his head. Milo figured that the unarmed man's time was up. He steeled himself emotionally for the sight of what he knew came next... Only to gaze down at a thin cylinder of light poking through his abdomen.

Confused as he was, he at least possessed the wherewithal to get out of its path as the selfsame knife zipped through the air like an arrow, following directly the path of the light beam, narrowly avoiding burrowing through Milo's flank on its trajectory to return to its master's hand.

Ah, he thought with a little sigh.

The randomness of violence was the worst part.

Still, Milo wasn't so altruistic that he'd just roll over and accept death and pain at the hands of these mysterious strangers. If there was going to be a fight no matter what he said or didn't say, did or didn't do, then he planned to win.

"Watch your feet," he warned, slipping something out of his pocket. He rolled the strange orb across the pavement, rattling over divets and cracks in the road before it stopped short beneath the far man's spread legs.

After a hair's breadth pause, it ruptured, exploding in a frenzy of threads. A second breath, and black and glossy wires snapped back in on themselves, ensnaring any poor fool standing in their way.

 

[Roda the Red]

(NPC) Debora Hillclad

CS Link

SCENE:

Everyone's a Critic

TIME:

Post-Arc 3, July 9th 2022

LOCATION:

Feralia Art Gallery, Central District

PARTICIPANTS:

Camila, Takakazu

Everyone's a Critic

Silence dominated the room, the humming and gestures of the critic being the only sound echoing through the office. Debora waited for the man to finish his examination, her built up frustration and stress compelling her hand to slowly crawl up to her face, fingertips touching her soft lips. Nailbiting was an old habit that the artist had gone to great lengths to overcome, but now it begged to resurface, thanks to the man's chaotic efforts.

Certainly didn't help that the man's interpretation was nothing short of atrocious. They were the most barebones, surface level things anyone with without a modicum of art comprehension would take from it. "A-Ahhh...is that what you think? Well that's uhhh...Interesting." Except it actually wasn't, the fact he even took it as a self portrait felt low-key insulting, as this was a piece about one's ego becoming their downfall, so he most definitely didn't catch on it...or did he?

Regardless of that, she reached a boiling point as slime covered her work, a piece that took her a noteworthy amount of time and effort to complete...cognitive plagiarism aside. She stomped towards the man, both of her hands grabbing onto his collar, almost lifting him off his feet. "You BRUTE! You just keep making a mess after ano-" Then, there was silence, glances were exchanged, and eyes connected, allowing for Debora to have a glimpse of the golden sunrays cutting through the fog amidst the grasslands, and the ominous shapes, the boundless treasures she craved to attain, became ever so slightly clearer. "I mean...It's not like it's a big deal anyways, haha!"

She released her grip on the critic, transitioning a couple of excited steps into a joyous twirl, humming in satisfaction. "Well well, I have to say, sir, I LOVED your interpretation, I can certainly say you really hit the nail on it." She began circling the around the couch and the desk, making her way towards the cheap wardrobe. "We still have SO much more to go through, I can't wait to hear what you have to say." She stopped on her tracks, right in front of the old piece of furniture, her hand reaching up for the top, fingertips treading past the complex wooden grooves of swirling patterns.

But when her hand was met with naught but the plain barnished wood, she stood in silence, ominously keeping her face away from the man.

"So this was your little game all along."

She turned around, her expression having gone a complete change, fully-contracted pupils spelling murder. "Who sent you?" A grim tone enveloped her words, a striking contrast to her honeyed facade.

thebigfella

 

[miki]

HIACHI | collab w/ thebigfella

Collab Post

SCENE:

WYTTTTLBYUFTIFOYIACP

LOCATION:

Uljama Works (Abandoned), East District

DATE:

June 19th, 2022 || Post-Arc 3

PARTICIPANTS:

Hiachi, Tak, Eisyu (NPC)

When You Take The Time to Look Back, You’ll Usually Forget That In Front of You Is a Cheese Platter

Hiachi stared at the top of Tak’s head. Her mouth tightened into a line and her eyes bore into him, the light escaping their reflective surface by slivers. Her jaw shifted. There was clearly plenty to say, but nothing she could force out her mouth.

She couldn’t say that it was okay. Because it wasn’t. He bled from both shoulders, her dad was battered and bruised, and a stranger’s blood covered most of her body. There was nothing anyone could do to make it alright. It was impossible.

She swallowed, hard. Whatever prodded at the back of her eyes; at the lump in her throat; she buried.

Hiachi wordlessly picked up her dad from underneath his shoulder. Inch by inch, she dragged him across the floor, stubbornly trying to carry him out by herself.

Each heavy step dragged on. The sounds of shuffling fabric, Eisyu’s shoes trailing across the ground, digging up dirt and blood into the crevices between the toe box. Monotonously it continued, the door didn’t seem like it was growing closer.


…


The balance shifted, the dragging stopped as Eisyu was lifted higher, much of the weight taken off Hiachi’s shoulders.

Tak rose from out of the peripheral, Eisyu’s arm wrapped around his neck as he used his tattered shoulder to prop under his armpit, keeping him balanced between them both.

He didn’t speak a word, vacant eyes, lusterless and blind silently stared forward, the neutral frown he always wore had come back to his face. The only sign there was anything going on in his head was a sniff he let out.

She stared at him for a moment. Paused within her unbridled focus. She wouldn’t ever say a word, but not because of a lack of them. Because the pause was enough.

She gave him a firm nod. Before looking forward again and preparing to march onwards.

Both of them began to walk together, but they weren’t followed by the perspective. Instead it floated upward, letting them blur out in the distance as its focus narrowed on one of the lights in the warehouse.

Two moths fluttered under it, their wings beating rapidly as they soared in circles around, bumping into each other all the while. And as they finally began to soar towards the light.

Everything went dark.

Spoiler

thebigfella Lucem The One Eyed Bandit

 

[mechanicalmania]

LENRAS MOTESFONT

[CS Link]

SCENE:

It’s Altruistic To Say “What’s Mine is Yours” Until They Try To Take Home Your Refrigerator With Them.

LOCATION:

West District

DATE:

June 28th, 2022 | | Post-Arc 3

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Camila, Lenras, Markus, Ryutaro, Samira, Lorette, Dagger, Baba

It’s Altruistic To Say “What’s Mine is Yours” Until They Try To Take Home Your Refrigerator With Them.

"No, no."

The lights are dimmed. Lenras Motesfont, the famed Maw, rubs his temples with a hand that has previously crushed a skull. He doesn’t need all of the medical equipment that he had carted down here to diagnose himself. He has a migraine. Now, to list the causes.

"The cubital fossa vein is the elbow. Left arm, please, sanitize it."

Maybe it was the machines. The fact that they weren’t his machines, that’s a feasible theory. But it’s not like he had the time or any need up until now to create his own ICU in the place that should be his lab. And the equipment wasn’t made for him, and even if it was, it’s not like he was capable of cautiously inserting a needle into anyone.

"The tourniquet looks properly applied. You've got the proper angle?"

”Believe it to be twenty degrees for drawing.”

The slightest twinge in… yes, his forebrain, wants to blame Wallet for this. In a literal sense, it was Wallet’s fault. He goes out to pick up a few minor items, mostly for his own purposes, and returns with a song in his heart and an unconscious body swung in a fireman’s carry. But that’d be stupid. Both emotionally and logically, he ought to be thanking Wallet for his work and thinking here. He was the one actually conducting the work now, Lenras simply overseeing and directing the process. It wasn’t as if he had simply dragged a want-to-be corpse in Lenras’s laboratory and asked him to deal with it. Even if he had, if his identification was accurate...

"Mmm. Yes, that sounds right. Let it air, hold the arm down and taut, and then we're prepared to insert."

No. No, the real reason for this migraine was the luck. Lenras liked to believe himself as a man of talent, who carves his progress out of skill. This? This was pure chance. He’d been spending weeks investigating cases of the tiger’s HPs losing their abilities, and, on rare occasions, unknown third parties suddenly popping up on the radar having the same capabilities. He’d done examination, he’d done work, he’d taken blood samples from some of the victims before, but he’d yet to find anyone just after it occurred.

”Puncturing.”

And now… she hadn’t even woken up yet. This was the freshest sample he’d gotten. He’d be able to effect an actual theory about degradation of the cells, he’d be able to do comparisons side by side, and it was all because, as Wallet said, there were some loudmouth youths just poking at this marvel in an alley. It was an annoying little hole in all the work he’d put into this before now. Ah, well. You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, he supposes.

"I trust you can manage bandaging afterwards. I believe that I have a hematology analyzer either in this lab, or... no, it's here."

Lenras turned, leaving the body slumped in his chair in Wallet’s capable hands. No one recovered potentialless had ever had a problem waking up, at least to his knowledge, but at least she’d wake up healthier and comfier then whatever trash heap she’d been dragged from. No consent to a blood test, but that was the price of admission. Hopefully, no allergic reaction to the standardized painkiller, but it wasn’t his sacrifice to make. Possibly cut that detail off if this actually was Camilla.

That was the main reason why Wallet brought her back. Both of the duo had seen her before, once or twice at the least in both business and pleasure, and if it wasn’t for the change of hair it’d be an easy identification. Motesfont had been happy to pay off on Wallet’s gamble with the working theory that the hair change was likely related to aspects seen in other victims, such as the loss of durability and other physical aspects related in some facet to one’s potential being altered upon losing it, but… there was the slight potential that this was going to be awkward. Hopefully not. He can’t handle that and a headache.

He skims through a few previous samples being held in a fridge, beneath the analyzer, taking out one that he marked as particularly clear. It was… four days old, and it’d been taken three days after the victim originally returned to the Tigers. Easy to compare to a sample that can have it’s lifespan measured in hours. Good luck that Camila be picked up here, he had his doubts for a moment about needing to lug the machine and samples across the city for this. Yet more luck. Lenras sighs, clutching his temple again and taking a deep breath.

The clattering of the hygienic disposal of a used tourniquet into a wastebin followed by a polite cough brought his attention back to reality. Wallet had, after ensuring the donor wouldn’t bleed to death, turned to transfer the blood sample to a similar vial.

”She’s still stable. Possibly beginning to wake up, noticed signs of stirring.”

The vial was carefully connected to a slip for Lenras’s claw to grip onto, before being handed over to the doctor. Lenras nodded, turning to place both vials into a small tray.

"Anise tea, I think. One should wake up to tea, and it might help my current state. The samples need to get closer in temperature, in any case."

Jin nodded, before looking up towards the lights. Lenras glanced upwards, and then back down, and then nodded. Fine. No, he’s right, the lights should be on for this. Hopefully the tea helps calm him slightly when it’s made. Besides, comparing samples… there was nothing to irritate him there. That was going to be relaxing.

Click.

The lights beamed on, reflecting off of harsh machinery and the pool of water, before Wallet began setting the temperature of an electric kettle. He felt the need to addendum his previous thought. It’d be relaxing for him. Likely not for the owner of either sample.

But that’d only be his problem if he couldn’t figure it out.

 

[King Crimson]

AKAMOZU JUN

CS Link

SCENE:

Two Birds On A Wire [November 8th, 2020]

LOCATION:

Shady's Motel, South District

PARTICIPANTS:

Little Red ( miki )

Two Birds On A Wire

Nearly completely still, completely relaxed, the boy in the chair didn't respond in the slightest to the girl's voice, nor to her shouting, nor to her presence as she stomped over to his side.
It was only when she drew closer to take a hold of his earbud, that a faint sound filled her ears; a sharp, constant drone, like metal struck with a tuning fork.
It was her only warning for the sudden flurry of movement that followed, the boy's body suddenly lurching towards her in a vicious lunge.
A ray of sunlight pouring in from the window nearby reflected off of the stout kitchen knife he'd insidiously kept hidden from view, already raised overhead, grasped tightly with bleached-white knuckles in murderous intent.
The swift, sudden motion parted the sleek, black curtain that obscured his features, giving Red her first glimpse of his fair face.
His eyes were much like his hair; a single spot of red in a sea of black. Two broiling embers at her, gleaming bright and hot with pure, unfiltered id, sitting within deep, tumultuous, storms of charcoal black.
And yet, despite the apparent madness in his eyes, his face didn't betray a single sign of surprise, alarm, or malice towards her.
In fact, he almost seemed expectant, as if he had been waiting for this very moment, ever since she entered the room, or maybe when she turned the corner in the hallway, or maybe even when she'd first entered the building.
Only one word escaped the boy's mouth.
A blithe, almost casual response to her earlier shouting, as the knife spiked downwards, in a swift, compact diagonal swing, aimed to separate the girl's hooded head right off of her shoulders;
"Hello?"

 

[Vorifengrous]

THE POPE

CS Link

SCENE:

Above Abyss, Under Heaven

LOCATION:

Unknown Waters

TIME:

June 6th, 2022 || Post-Arc 3

PARTICIPANTS:

THE POPE, Areith

Above Abyss, Under Heaven

As the ship sailed, the moonlight cast its silhouette against the seafloor. Small crabs burrowed frantically, fish darted to avoid it, and octopi shrank into their holes. They avoided the ship’s path because shadows often hid predators. The ship's path was sacred, and it sanctified the seafloor; the trail it left behind was marked by an unmoving, serene calmness. On and on, the shadow crawled until it crept over an old diving suit, nearly fully entombed in coral. Its biofouled surface had developed a dense patina, and any sheen it once had was lost to antiquity. Only the faceplate remained visible, staring up at the moon.

As the ship passed overhead, the moonlight streaming in through the suit’s barnacle-encrusted faceplate was suddenly obstructed, casting whatever lay within into total darkness.

It did not like that.

Immediately, the suit began to vibrate as a great many somethings stirred within it. The mesh seams around the neck of the diving helmet bulged and expanded as something within fought violently to tear the suit away from its coral prison. Once the shadow had passed and the suit's thirst for moonlight was quenched again, its violent thrashing ceased—but only for a moment.

From within the suit came the resonant thronging of its occupants, producing a sound that ripped through the surrounding water, stunning the unfortunate fish caught in its wake. Smaller creatures died outright. Above the surface, the waves around the boat ceased completely, unable to maintain their form as a baleful, trumpet-like groan rose up from the seafloor and engulfed the area. The coral rattled apart and partially gave way, and from the cracks in the coral, a jet-black stream shot out. It pierced the underside of the ship and dug in, harpooning the vessel as it passed, before contracting. The ship was yanked back violently as though it had dropped anchor, then lurched forward suddenly.

The trumpeting drone ceased. The coral had given way.

 

[Mqueserasera]

Jacques de la Isarn

SCENE:

Happy Therapy with Dr. Jacques

LOCATION:

Dr. Haman's Office, West District

TIME:

July, 17th

PARTICIPANTS:

Jacques, Passeri

Happy Therapy with Doctor Jacques

Jacques watched the woman with feigned interest. Watching her clothes, to be exact. He had been wondering what manner of garments a pop star would wear casually. You simply can’t trust what magazines sell as celebrities’ casual wear, as curated realities are often farther removed from the truth than deliberate fiction. But reality itself could be disappointing. A hoodie, a pair of tight leggings, uninspiring manicure. Not that he had expected much. Yet a man with a predilection for cute clothes might dream...

“Yeah?” He lifted his gaze to the woman’s face, then shrugged, trying with half his heart to pretend he had been following the random jumble of words. “I take it you aren’t very fond of talkative people. Or birds.” Or something. He wasn’t so sure anymore. Popstars are so dumb, so lacking in the imaginative faculty. But that is neither new nor surprising.

Still, he made an effort with the profiling. Hate birds. Hate talks. He noted carelessly the findings next to the drawing of a mouse he had been working on.

“No need,” taking back the print paper, he said, “I believe so much suffices for a clinical diagnosis. I have my conclusion, that is, I have arrived at the root of your problem!” His gloved hand raised, angled up, one pointed dramatically at the pop singer.

“Anyway.” He tossed the clipboard on the coffee table, in the same movement gestured at the empty mug. “That you looked at just now was a coffee stain, I even went to the trouble of making a presentable copy with the printer. What does that tell me? Well.” He sat back, half reclining against the chair’s uncomfortable backrest, then crossed his legs modestly, gloved hands hugging a knee. “That you tend to think too much, try too hard, even when there’s nothing to think or do. You know popstars like you are supposed to be dumb and clueless, right?”

He sighed.

“But be at ease, it is not that you are smart or anything. The problem I am presented with is an everyman’s problem. Take a perfect man and a perfect life and what problem have you but not perfection itself? Now a flawed man, impoverished and skin taut upon his skull, the best of his language demonstrated in pressed mania - the hey nonny, nonny and the lalala - now he, and only he, is without a problem. Are you he, can you not think? No. When I gave you the stained paper that psychological trick of guessing shapes came first to your mind and such intended procedures as popularized by pop cultures filled your head with answers, not the shape itself as you were told to picture! Though, mind, the effect was intended and nevertheless, I was testing your ability of thought. The result being positive indicates we have a problem. Now thinking is a malady of the night one best does without under the sun. It shares the same root as the illness of wondering what to cook for dinner while having merry on a dancefloor. In itself, it isn’t so bad. But the conscious mind’s a tumor when the body could do on its own just fine a task.”

He stopped, breathed, then reached for the empty mug, found it empty, and placed it down.

“Now I think you probably don’t care much for this session, this therapy. Maybe someone pressured you to come here, maybe it was your conscience. But nevertheless you didn’t want to come and there lies the problem. Personally? I find defective folks endearing. Speeling errors and misprints fine as they are. And yet my patients are those with relatives or friends or lovers or dogs who are just not fine with them. It is my occupational obligation to see to it that they are accepted by society. The first step, of course, is to stop thinking - get rid of your chief malady and become the perfect actress! Do you think actresses think of their stove or dinner or the curtain’s shade when they are on stage? Nay, they become the character, empty of thoughts but the thoughts of the scene, the life, the emotions of the fictional person they are playing. You must become her, this character entire. Someone who is accepted by society and their friends and their lovers and their dogs. I do not doubt you have some experience, all of us do, more or less. But you sitting here is the greatest evidence your acting has been amiss. You have dropped your guard, thinking of the people and animals around you as pleasant acquaintances who shall approve of your shabby acting regardless. BUT NO! Such notion is wrong as wrongness could! They are the critics of life, the harsher judges than the gods’ for they deal in biased laws and nameless truths! For a mispoken line they may dash you to the ground and trample on your effort and livelihood! They shall laugh at your stumbling and debase your awkwardness on stage! These are your enemies in all but name, and should be treated as such. And so tell me, dear, what is your character? Describe it to me in all your perfected words and careful design! Who is she that may please friends and foes, that may soothe a mother’s worries and a lover’s concerns? Tell me about this accepted person. For the first step to acting right is to know your character and their role in a play. Do.”

 

[miki]

Hiachi Ito

CS Link

SCENE:

Taking A Break

LOCATION:

West District | Camila’s Apartment

DATE:

June 28, 2022

PARTICIPANTS:

Hiachi, Camila

Taking A Break

She almost started crying. It wasn’t even an exaggeration. Hiachi’s eyes watered up at the sight of the melted cheese. It looked like a commercial, except it was in front of her and she could smell how good it was. Garlic, butter, and bitter cheese.

Hiachi completely ignored the water in favor of the treasure within the basket. She set the glass aside and handed Camile the package. She nearly tossed it, with the fervor of her hunger distracting her.

Not that it distracted her to the point of forgetting her purpose. As Hiachi went to grab from the basket, she looked at the ceiling to jog her memory about the job.

“...It was okay.” As she spoke, Hiachi began to stack a tower of bread in her off hand. She kept the stack impeccably balanced as it grew to three, four, five pieces of bread. “They kept making fun of my clothes. But they didn’t suspect me or anything, so that was good.” Hiachi droned on with her monotone timbre, her eyes locked on Camila as she continued to add bread to her tower.

When she had stacked to a sufficient eight pieces of bread, she took a ninth one and took a bite out of it. She did a double take, inspecting the fluffy insides that were revealed past the crust. Within the next second, she chomped down the rest of the piece and reached for the next one from atop her tower.

Spoiler

Roda the Red

 

[thebigfella]

Zentsupa Pei

CS Link

SCENE:

Futility Smells of Rot, Feebleness Tastes of Bile

LOCATION:

Underground Arena, South District

TIME:

July 21st, 2022 | | Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Mugen Elenion Aura , Kisara @simj26

Futility Smells of Rot, Feebleness Tastes of Bile

Loud, obnoxious hands riffled through a large bag of popcorn; the frantic digging for the biggest possible handful caused bulges through the white and red stripes, hastily gripped and coated, and butter kernels were shoved into a gaping maw mid-cackle, the laughing only becoming muddled as jagged, sharp teeth macerated the popcorn into bits, swallowed up.

As soon as he was done with one handful, he was onto the next, tears pooling out from the corner of his eyes as he frantically kicked his legs against the bottom of the sofa in delight. He pointed at the screen overzealously, laughing so hard he was almost going purple in the face.

A popcorn machine Playmate sat on the table in front of him, its eyes looking up worriedly at the insanity on display, taking a glance up to see the gore on the screens. The whole building was under surveillance, with flat screens hung up in succession and stacked on top of each other, leaving very few blind spots.

From the central screens outward, the gruesome scene of murder sat on focus, blood pooling out of stumps to stain the white floor of the arena, filling in the blank spots between splatters of dried iron with fresh ichor.

Right next to Pei on the large sofa was Q-Bot; the tiny robot had himself occupied with an oversized cup of soda, slurping from the giant straw as he held the towering thing in his lap in place with both hands; once he was finished slurping with a loud smack of his lips. He started laughing along with Pei, both laughing loudly and overdramatically, Pei slamming his hand against the table as he clutched at his stomach while Q-bot was busy aggressively rocking himself back and forth.

And then the robot abruptly stopped, looking at Pei with an open mouth and tilting his head in a question: “Why are we laughing?”

Finally, letting himself calm enough to key his breath back, Pei crossed one leg over the other with a brimming grin as he looked pleased.

“Kekekekekek! Looks like this game will have some pieces on the board!” Pei exclaimed, his hands clasped together as he leaned forward, “Taking a chaotic situation and using that chance to assert superiority! Fuckin’ shithead! I like his style!” Pei complimented, his eyes gazing across the different displays, watching as other figures began to dig deeper, going through the hallways and kicking open doors. It wouldn't be too long til they found him.

“Now I wonder what they'll find first!” Pei openly mused, leaning back into the chair without a care in the threat looming overhead, a knowing glint in his expression. "I hope they don't mind a few surprises. Kekekekk.”

Pei, for a fact, loved them; the desire for the unexpected made him straighten up as the door blew open, and thunder and electricity ripped through the atmosphere. With an entrance that broke down the attempt to establish a hierarchy, the weak and feeble could flee towards the door.

“Kekekekek.” A dry chuckle left Pei’s mouth as he stood up, looking to the side to get an angle of Kisara from a different perspective, “Now, who's this skank?”

His memory only had to wander a moment before his smile widened, his slumped form straightening up a bit, “Hooh,” he breathed, “Looks like I caught a big fish. She'll do well in this stress test.”

His footsteps clicked against the tiled floor, hands smoothly sliding into his pocket with the effect of rubbing fabrics. He paced himself over to a dimly lit corner, where a tarp had been laid out. Coagulated blood, disposed bones, and the overwhelming presence of flies barely peeked through the darkness. Hands and fingers stitched back together, missing sections of flesh replaced with fabrics like a quilt, a missing eye with a blue marble shoved in its place within the socket.

“Hurry up, geezer, we're running out of time,” Pei complained, looking downwards at a figure barely out of view.

A bald dome shone on his head, a graying beard on his chin, and thick eyebrows hid his eyes. Within his hands, he held blood-covered fingers, needles, and thread.

???

CS Link

SCENE:

Futility Smells of Rot, Feebleness Tastes of Bile

LOCATION:

Underground Arena, South District

TIME:

July 21st, 2022 | | Post-Outbreak)

PARTICIPANTS:

Pei, Mugen, Kisara

Futility Smells of Rot, Feebleness Tastes of Bile

Doors slammed open, and sharp kicks threw them off their hinges. Punches splintered wood and pierce through, hands grasped to turn knobs.

They found everything but what they were searching for supply closets, bathrooms, private quarters, office spaces, and electrical. They tore through, mounting annoyance at how fruitless their search had been so far.

Until they reached the end of the hall, a giant door sat, covered with old peeling posters. The entrance was slightly open. The sounds that came through were laughing and talking.

Someone was on the other side.

They didn't hesitate. The door was burst open, and bodies spilled in, their hands poised to tear and break. Yet, as their eyes darted around, they found nothing but darkness. A single table sat in the center of the expanse, and on top of it was the bright screen of a phone, sounds played through its speakers.

A trick unappreciated, and in response, one of them grasped the thing between their hands. With ease, they crushed it in a flash of sparks and a plume of smoke, the destroyed electronics falling to the ground in a pile of metal and plastic.

“Not here either,” one of them grumbled, all prepared to turn around and continue their search.

Until the sound of something shifting out of sight made them all pause. Immediate reactions, well-trained defenses, a knife swung from a pocket and sliced through the air, aiming towards the sound. As quick as it was thrown, it was tossed back; like a razor through the air, it spun and rendered the flesh of the neck; serrated blades gushed blood across the faces of the other members of the trio as the other one clutched at his throat, bloody gurgles leaving their newly opened hole.

Unphased glares on the other faces of the subservient, only offering a side glance as their body crumbles to the ground, squeezing and sputtering air, trying to pull back into their pooling lungs.

Footsteps approached, a sagging figure, its upper body so weakly propped up by the spine that its arms swung side to side with the stride of its legs. It stopped momentarily, just to bend upwards, the sounds of its joints cracking back into place, threads of stitches straining against muscles as they slotted themselves back into place. A yawn let out a breath as thick as fog, condensing in front of their face.

“Hm. Guess this isn’t a dream after all.” A simple remark came from their mouth; their body did not breathe, and their hearts didn’t beat. It was complete silence as they stood there in the dark. Eyes moved within the shadows before placing themselves onto the two onlookers.

As soon as their eyes met, nothing else needed to be said. Everything moved in a blur, all their figures distorting to only dashes of color moving around in dim light. The focus panned back outside of the door, the sound of snapping bone joined with blood gushing across the floor, and then everything went silent.

Footsteps, dripping red. A trail made its way from the gap between the door and the floor, slowly creaking open. Bloodstained fingers, nails sharp as claws, held onto decapitated heads in each hand. Their tongue traveled across their cheek, getting rid of a stray splatter, savoring the taste as he tossed both useless brain sacks against the wall, letting them splatter into nothing but gray matter and bone bits.

“No clue where I am,” The man remarked, stepping ahead without observing his surroundings, leaving a trail of blood-covered footsteps behind him as he skulked down the hall toward the arena. Lights finally showed him in his full visage, one adorned in black clothing. Ligaments tied together with string and thread, his neck reattached with stitches.

“I’ll just have to find someone who knows. And more importantly.”

“I’ll find Helva.”

ian Rath

CS Link

SCENE:

Futility Smells of Rot, Feebleness Tastes of Bile

LOCATION:

Underground Arena, South District

DATE:

July 21st, 2022 | | Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Pei, Mugen, Kisara

Futility Smells of Rot, Feebleness Tastes of Bile

Rules are rules. Orders were orders. Smart men listened when someone higher above made a command. Influence, power, age, and other such things dictated social hierarchy. You were an idiot not to follow along with that.

So, he didn’t move. Those who ran towards the door funneled to escape from the rigidity of structure, to think they could make their own choices within a world like this could be left to their own fate.

He was left standing there against the wall, one of those who decided he could not fight.

Well, that was not true. He simply had no interest in it.


He was sure he would win if he ever got into a fight. But winning came with a cost: it came with being better, the attention, and various other aftereffects. He had grown tired of that.

He didn’t like such things; he didn’t like being perceived or associated with such broader things. A simple peon, a suit, such terms much better suited him. In fact, the only reason he was in this crowd at all was because he was following the whims of his superior.

Mr. Miragate. The drunkard, who had risen to his position within the company through nepotism, someone who had never been under threat, had never even fallen and scraped his knee. The concept of watching two people beat each other to death sounds fun when you don’t know what the feeling is like. So, it wasn’t any surprise the man could so easily toss his money away, seeing which woman or man would kick the bucket.

Well, it was pitiful. It wasn’t a surprise how quickly he tried to run when things threatened to turn into a free-for-all. Not that he disagreed; he wasn’t interested in taking part in some lunatic bloodsports.

Well, now he was in some sort of different situation. He calmly checked his watch, watching as Mr. Miragate tried to run as fast as his portly legs could carry him to the door. He did not order him to follow, so he supposed he would just stand here until he was told to do something else.

Well, that was at least the plan. However, a familiar glance at bubble gum hair caused him to pause slightly.

McDowell, he knew her name well. For numerous reasons now. An old acquaintance. The proper courtesy would be to say hello, trade numbers, and catch up with dinner. But this wasn’t the right time, was it? Read the room.

Unfortunately, some within the crowd weren’t able to do such a simple thing.

The guards who were stationed to prevent those from leaving got up from the ground. The blast had given them a moment of losing their balance, but they knew the risk of failure. Immediately, those who had tried to flee were forced back, tumbling and spilling over each other like idiots as they screamed and scrambled.

This was beginning to become embarrassing; a sigh left his lips as he adjusted his glasses.

“What is the purpose for keeping us here?” He questioned anyone who would listen. Not that he would have been surprised if he had received no answer.
[/justify]

 

[miki]

Little Red

CS Link

scene:

Two Birds On A Wire

location:

Shady's Motel, South District

date:

November 18th, 2020

participants:

Little Red, Jun

Two Birds On A Wire

The glint of the knife in her eyes was enough of a warning. He pounced on her the very second she removed the earbud from him.

So this is what that old man was droning on about, huh…

Not that Red was concerned. She had found herself in worse pinches than this. Between the wrath of men half and twice her age, this guy was a tyke. He almost seemed like a kid. It garnered enough sympathy to make her consider a different approach.

Maybe he’ll listen if I try to clear up this misunderstandin’... Whatever it is.

Before he could drive the blade down, Red pulled her machete from its hilt. She drew it up, fully expecting to counter his knife and attempt to engage in a semi-formal conversation about his attitude problem.

Instead, when her blade hit the kitchen knife, the long metal blade was cut clean off. The momentum was enough to stop his attack, but the damage was done.

She stared at the broken machete, long and hard. In her mind, anyway.

The heel of her small brown boot drove directly into his gut, knocking him off with the quickest speed she could muster.

“You PUNK! LOOK WHAT YOU DID!!” Red shouted at the top of her lungs, the noise startling some birds into flight from outside the window. She cornered the boy, her blue eyes sharp against the darkness. Any notions of softness promptly wilted and died. “THIS WAS AN HEIRLOOM! I SHOULD STRING YER GUTS INTO A FUCKIN’ BRACELET!”

 

[Elenion Aura]

MARKUS WEISS

CS Link

SCENE:

Blood Within The Pavement Cracks

TIME:

July 9th, 2022 | | Post-Arc 3

LOCATION:

Central District Sewers

PARTICIPANTS:

Dagger, Markus

BLOOD WITHIN THE PAVEMENT CRACKS

Suddenly Markus was alone.

He padded along in relative solitude behind the trailing shadows of her pack, trying not to take this new development personally. If she didn’t want to talk, she could’ve just clammed up or told him to go scratch. Her last word to him needled at his pride.

Keep up, Weiss

"Tsk." Don't piss me off.

His pursuit skidded to a halt when once again the board began to shift. The ground vibrated beneath his feet as the way they came from barred itself to their egress.

He whirled back around, eyes searching for Dagger, wondering if another set of barriers would fall and rise before him—between them. Divide and conquer. It’s what he would’ve done. It was a strategy.

Markus was coming to realize that there was no strategy, here. No higher thought.

His lip curled in disgust at the fleshy, flailing concrete limbs. The eyes. The lips spouting stupid nonsense… Making demands. Making demands of who? Did this clown know who the hell he was dealing with?!

Have a little taste.

Frost bloomed upon the surface of the writhing wall, freezing the wriggling limbs in their places with finality. A wave of cold raced along ahead of him, behind him, above him.

Where once, a mere moment ago, there was a forest of flailing limbs, blinking eyes, and smacking gums.

Now there was stillness.

Now there was silence.

The way, whichever way that was, was static.

Flash freeze.

The ice lattice groaned as it settled, above, before, and behind them. There would be no more shifting mazes. Markus would not allow it. He dared this guy to get into a battle of wills with him.

Markus pulled his hand free from the wall, accumulated snow fluttering from his fingers to the floor. He smirked at nothing, his eyes searching for Dagger amongst the freshly frozen maze. They found a beaver instead.

"What the fuck?” He thought aloud.

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

Passeri Park

SCENE:

What's Left Of Love When It's Down To Atoms?

TIME:

July 10th, 2022 | Post-Arc 3

LOCATION:

The Maw’s Warehouse, East District

PARTICIPANTS:

Lenras, Passeri

What's Left Of Love When It's Down To Atoms?

And there he was. The man of the hour. A hulking tower of bearish affability and aquatic muscle. A sight of as much contrast as the one struck between the black and the white. Finely tailored furs beneath which hid hulking, bestial strength. A warm welcome spilled from lips lined by pointed teeth. She had to admit, his visage was one that was imposing as it was surprising. Nature and nurture, bespoke, packaged to fit both into one wall of a man, one that was playing a far better gentleman than the lion's share of the men she'd shared her dinners with since her return to the city.

Never judge a book by its cover, she supposed. Not that it was a lesson she needed to learn.

"It's really no problem. Hosting is an art, right? You hardly to have everything running on a perfect schedule." Even with both of them seated, Passeri still needed to crane her neck up to make eye contact with the affable scientist. Or, at least, contact with what appeared to be his eyes. She could remember seeing something in a documentary about how the markings on an orca's face were only meant to distract, to hide and shield the tiny, vulnerable things beneath, and wondered if that same fact held true for the neatly dressed man sat across from her. And that if it did, in this civilized society of theirs what else could they be hiding? The eyes were the windows to the soul, after all. Pages to be read in the book that was a person's intent. To so neatly tuck them away must've been both a blessing and a curse.

"I have to say, the invite surprised me! Usually I'm the one inviting people to ominous dinners like these, so it's quite refreshing to be on the other end, you know? Cookies and milk for the appetizer are a first for me, though." As was dining in a warehouse. "But- And sorry if this is me rushing things- What's the occasion? This is quite the set up for a social call, isn't it?"

Unspoken, a third question hung around the edges of her words. There were three people who shared her name. The first, the bubbly celebrity, the second, fledgling Jack, and the third and final, the ever elusive Passeri Park herself.

Figuring out which woman she'd invited to dinner tonight would be her first order of business.

mechanicalmania​

 

[Roda the Red]

CHARLIE HUGHES

CS Link

SCENE:

Young Blood

TIME:

Post-Outbreak, July 20th 2022

LOCATION:

South District

PARTICIPANTS:

Charlie, Hitoshi, Musai, Daigo

Young Blood

"Uh, that sounds so good though." Charlie looked at Musai, nearly salivating at the myriad of meats being mentioned, he could already picture such a feast. But for now, he handwaved the mind cloud away, putting his focus back on the job.

"A kid? I see." The rookie folded his arms smiling confidently. "There's no way we'd ever hurt a little one, we just need to find them and give them a good talking to." Hi brow then fround, his mind extending the train of thought into what could be the cause of this. "Furthermore, I'd love to give a piece of my mind to their parents, it's their responsibility to set their kid on the right path..." He continued to speak on the matter, but his words were barely perceptible, drowned in a cacophany of grumbles as he buried his face down deeper into the cradle of his arms.

He quickly returned to the counter, elbows resting atop the pristine white surface. "Do you know who this kid actually is? Or where we can find them? The sooner we can find them, the faster we can stop this series of thefts, and the sooner I can get back to watching my show."

Looking behind him for a moment, Charlie spotted his favorite chips at a nearby stand. As a form of self-made motivation, he decided he'd treat himself to a bag or two or four if they can get this issue solved today.

Spoiler: Notes and Notifs

Hypercharge: Half-Activation

joshuadim @Kameron Esters-

 

[miki]

Melody Tucker

CS Link

SCENE:

The Idol’s Mask

TIME:

Post Outbreak | July 31st, 2022

LOCATION:

West District | Fool’s End Cafe

PARTICIPANTS:

Melody, Sheridan

The Idol’s Mask

Melody and Cassidy were no strangers to lines. Lines at the grocery store were mulled through at least once a week.

But this was different.

Cassidy looked like she should have been frothing at the mouth, with how intense she was shaking. This was about ten times as long as the grocery line, and that was already torture to her. The young girl collapsed onto the floor, rolling back and forth on her back. She kicked her legs furiously and clutched her head.

“Iroi…” She whined as she banged her fists on the carpet.

Melody frowned at the sight of her baby girl’s distress. She scanned the area with her large eye, but her conclusion only made her more dejected. They were roped into one line, with it only growing shorter when someone finished their prolonged speech with the star or fainted before getting there.

Still, she wasn’t one for giving up. Melody picked up her daughter by her torso and placed her atop her shoulder. She had to put a lot of effort into keeping her from sinking into her jelly skin, but she figured it was entirely worth it.

Cassidy squinted at the table that seemed worlds away. Even though they were far, the shine from her pink eyes were easy to spot.

Cassidy reached up to touch below her own pink irises, her face growing just as pink as the idol reflected in her eyes.

“...IROIIII!!!”

 

[Elenion Aura]

MINATO MAEDA

SCENE:

Returning Back Something You Don’t Own Is Basically Childbirth

TIME:

April 3rd, 2022

LOCATION:

Blast-Off DVDs, West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Shishido Takakazu, Dante Aguilar

RETURNING BACK SOMETHING YOU DON'T OWN IS BASICALLY CHILDBIRTH

Minato stared dully at Tak. His half-lidded eyes barely registering the scraggly man's mounting anger. As he watched, a slow hand reached down for the open bag of gummy candy sat snugly in the crook of his crossed legs. His eyes trailed downwards, analytically assessing the piece to select that would most optimally satiate the cravings of his sweet tooth. When Tak shouted, Minato looked up again, a little miffed that his thought process had been interrupted. As he rustled up a particularly juicy looking morsel, he watched the plastic DVD case spiral towards him like a whirling dervish. Making no move to react, the case caught him in the temple,—"Ooph!"—the force of it sending him toppling backwards, ass over shoulders, to land on the floor headfirst behind the counter in a cloud of dust and a spray of scattered gummy worms like shrapnel, leaving only his legs visible, poking out over the lip of the counter, twitching and askew.

Down on the ground floor, Minato peered around, grabbing hold of something, stuffing it in his jacket for later, before popping back up like nothing had happened.

Though, as Minato clambered back up onto the counter, a new shadow loomed large before him. Staring up at it, he had time only to—"Eep!"—a little yelp in surprise before he was lifted like a ragdoll and flung across the room, crashing through row after row of candies and various movie and media paraphernalia before the wall stopped his momentum abruptly, causing him to slide down it, splattered and splayed out, both arms and legs spread-eagle wide, like a bird flying headlong into an over-clean window.

Like clockwork, he jumped up again. Only this time, when his sight returned to him, he was no longer looking out at the ruins of a cheapo DVD rental—seriously, what was even keeping this place in business?—but an arms dealer's playground. That was one question, asked and answered. He let out a little, low whistle as he appraised the newly unveiled decor, and stock on offer. His mind finished its mental calculations, immediately shifting to understand the changing situation. He snapped his fingers, thanking god or the universe for this latest gift of providence.

"Oh, score!"

Where once there was one Minato, now there was two. Four. Eight. In an instant, a veritable brigade of Minatos had spread out over the rows of weapons and arms, like ants crawling on and over a rotting carcass. They perused leisurely, helping themselves to the haul, that bounty that heaven had so generously bestowed upon them.

”Hey!~ Hm, hm, hm hm. ~
Hm, hm, hm, cra-zy ~”

One even started humming a little tune, like he was out happily shopping and running errands, and not stealing wares from some kind of black market run by a secret cabal or something.

Tak and Dante were almost completely forgotten.


Meanwhile, outside the store...

Minato and Muggato had stepped way, way, way back. Happy just to spectate. And to hype up their dog in this bitch fight.

"OH YEAH!!!"

"WHOOP, WHOOP!!!"

They were Cerberus' one-man (two-man?) cheering section. Talk about moral support.

 

[miki]

Hiachi Ito

CS Link

SCENE:

BTSITRUMYMTO

LOCATION:

A Bar in Central District

DATE:

April 19th, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Dante

Being The Smartest In The Room Usually Means You're Missing The Obvious

Hiachi’s eyes flattened as she watched Dante play and remix the incessant cries of a baby on his phone. She pressed her hands to her ears, but the pitch squeaked through regardless. When it finally stopped, her hands dropped to her side in defeat.

He was listing things, performance-based achievements that were a testament to his ability to talk out of his ass. Hiachi would have been hard pressed to believe he was capable of any of that if she didn’t know him better.

Even then, she was equally annoyed by the long paragraph of text that Tak was spewing out. It went in one ear and out the other, running over her brain like a freight train. She shot him a glare. It wasn’t that deep. But she refused to retort, out of a bitter unwillingness to participate within the joke.

And then that fucker opened his mouth again. Speaking in metaphors that deserved more effort into translating than hieroglyphics. Hiachi hunched her shoulders as she watched him slap his knees and wobble around his seat.

Between the cowboy, Dante’s tipsy proclamations of victory, and Tak’s ramblings about the stupid trivia, Hiachi was two seconds from blowing a fuse.

Instead, she held her breath as she placed herself on the leather cushions. She sank into them as she kicked the leg of the table with the soles of her sneakers.

It was confirmed: This was going to be the stupidest thing she’s ever done.

Hiachi already decided she was going to do it, and didn’t want to back out now at risk of being called a coward—by herself, most likely. At this point, she had learned how to survive with these two: keep your head down and don’t question anything.

As the paper was handed to them, Hiachi accepted the complimentary pen and tapped it against the table in a simple rhythm.

“Does this trivia even have a theme?” Hiachi scanned the page. Nothing obvious to her eyes. With a defeated shrug, she snatched the pen and wrote her name down on the line. Hiachi.

The next order of action was, apparently, their team name.

Hiachi rolled her eyes so hard that her head spun to face the ceiling. “What do you want me to say? The three musketeers? The three big stupid idiots!?” She dropped her head back down as she faced the duo. From her twitching eye to her almost frown, her expression was starting to look irritated.

She tossed the pen back on the table, letting go of the responsibility as she crossed her arms. “I don’t fuckin’ know. Get me an IPA, then maybe my brain will be numb enough to function.”

Spoiler

thebigfella Haze-

 

[Roda the Red]

CHARLIE HUGHES

CS Link

SCENE:

Back in the Game

TIME:

Post-Arc 3, July 5 2022

LOCATION:

Boustan [About a four hour drive from New Oasis]

PARTICIPANTS:

Charlie, Hitoshi, Milo

Back in the Game

Caring arms catched the bloodied man, tightly clutching at his burgundy suit. "Aniki..." Charlie stared at Hitoshi with pained eyes, his own fingers now dyed scarlet. Milo's arrival was one that brought the fellow rookie a semblance of reassurance, albeit vastly overshadowed by the severity of their predicament.

"Don't worry, I'll get you there right now, you'll be dancing around like usual before you know it." Heeding Milo's sound suggestion, and fefore having to deal with the troubles of a moving tram, Charlie rushed his way out of the wagon, red droplets coating the grey pavement of the station.

As much as his body begged to leap away, soaring over walls and fences to reach his destination quicker, any sudden movement risked rupturing the veteran's blood vessels further. Both literally and figuratively, the young man walked through a balancing act of urgency and caution, in the shape of a measured jog.

"Catching that guy is gonna be a pain." He cut through the sound of hasty footsteps and bated breaths. "With a potential like that, he can easily scurry away whenever." Looking behind his shoulder, he spared his blonde companion a comforting glance. "But if we managed to catch up to them once, I'm comfident that guy can't get too far away, so i'm sure it's not too late." His eyes inevitably gravitated towards the doll in Milo's hands, the one Elizabeth had tossed at him previously. Did she perhaps do that for a reason? Maybe there was something inside of it that could help them track her down? It wouldn't have been the most out there of ideas. But regardless, Hitoshi's life was the duo's utmost priority, unfortunately the woman would have to wait just a moment.

Turning towards the dark maw of the alleyway, the green light of a cross-shaped signed potrayed itself as a beacon of hope for the trio. "Please! We need help right now!" Shouted Charlie, the door opening harshly with a front kick, the door's bell ringing chaotically.

Spoiler: Notes and Notifs

Hypercharge: Half-Activation

joshuadim Elenion Aura

 

[Roda the Red]

CAMILA GASPARI

CS Link

SCENE:

You Can't Make an Omelette Without Ruining a Few Pans

TIME:

Post-Outbreak, July 14 2022

LOCATION:

West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Camila, Cecilia

You Can't Make an Omelette Without Ruining a Few Pans

Rows of neatly lined up paper bags rattled non-stop within the trunk and backseats of Camila's car as she drove through West District. It was reassuring to know that even the most fragile of ingredients was under little danger, as unlike the majority of the city, West had the luxury of possessing the most pristine and intact streets, cleared out of nearly any kind of holes or cracks. No wonder the city council would be more than willing to first and foremost answer the cries of citizens more than capable of keeping their bills and taxes fully up to date.

Within a surprisingly short amount of time since the last, Camila found herself relatively relaxed on an off day, albeit it this time was for a good reason, to plant the seeds for a hopefully prolific endeavor in the future. Actually, was it really a day off if she was just looking to make more money in the long run once more? Well, as long as it made one happy, it was probably okay. If you long your job then you won't work a single day in your life, that wasn't the case with the monochrome veteran, of course, but it was nice to keep an optimistic outlook for a change.

The woman tapped at the steering wheel along the rythim of the punk pop music coming through the speakers, her eyes constantly shifting between staring forward at the streets, and the path marks by the GPS. Cecilia was a good contact to have under her wing, the young girl had both a freakish physique and a very useful potential to boot, someone good to throw in whenever a dangerous proposition was set on the table, her good fighters like Dante or Tak could only take so much work at any given moment, after all, so her adition to the veteran's roster was more than welcome. But it was the woman's claims of wanting to open a restaurant that really caught Camila's attention, if she was able to help finance the place in exchange for a steady flow of earnings through profits cut, now THAT was the real gold to be found beyond that craggy layer.

But was it a surprise of the worst kind, once she got try have a bite of Cecilia's cooking, even to this day, Camila wondered if that meal could even be considered edible sustenance from a scientific AND legal standpoint, most likely wasn't. Was the veteran going to throw in the towel? If you're asking that, it simply means you just don't know the tailed woman well enough, this small empire she's built for herself was one made through sweat, blood and sweat, through rigorous and excutiating trial and error. Therefore, even if Cecilia was someone with a potential to turn any food into literal poison, she was still going to go through hell in order to turn her into, at the very least, someone talented enough to feed people with confidence.

Parking just outside of the tall woman's living area, Camila pressed the clackson four times, the amount she'd specified to perform the moment of her arrival.

xeh