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Post by Admin on Jun 24, 2012 15:12:32 GMT -5
Posting order - Jezebel, Burke, Kyle, Shak, Chris and Jonathan. (obviously we have wiggle room but just to get started.)
The tyrant is currently blind and deaf and will resume pursuit of Jonathan and anyone with him after one post cycle.
Good luck.
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Post by crystalofchaos on Jun 24, 2012 18:37:50 GMT -5
((OOC: posted here so we can keep things a bit more orderly, Jezza is in the little antechamber by the end of the post.))
Everything went too fast for her fogged brain to keep up with. Her reflexes weren't any better than average and every time she thought she had come to an idea to break apart the scuffle something else happened and she was at square one. She was a thinker and less a doer. Finally with the fight dissipating she found only one feeling left in her exhausted frame of mind, frustration. There was no level of bitching or words to express herself as she leaned on the wall and slid down with one simple thought on her mind. SHUT UP!
The last thing she remembered as she sank against the wall was her lips parting in a snarl and a voice echoing as loud, raw, and inhuman as she had ever heard. Vaguely she realized it was her own voice but the thought might as well have been a wisp in the wind of a hurricane. She wasn't sure how long she screamed or how loudly. The shriek itself was almost like a knife in the ears as her lips curled back to expose her teeth and her face twisted into something like pain. It was just too much for her to take. A faint tear tugged at her eyes until her breath ran out, which took a moment.
When the scream finally ended her usual tumble of thoughts picked back up like a babbling brook, incessant and noisy. She put her face in her hands and simply whimpered. "Shut up. Shut up all of you." She couldn't keep the rest of the tears in. It wasn't pain or hatred causing them, it was far too simple for that. She was just at her wit's end for the time being. "Fucking humans!" She spat the word as though it were the most disgusting thing she ever said.
She held her hands over her eyes a moment more, took a deep breath and let it out. The world seemed so much clearer as she pushed everything aside and spoke to no one in particular. She needed to calm herself as she cradled her face in her hands. "I am Jezebel, I was once human. I am still changing. I am a monster and a maniac. A woman of medicine and death. My only useful knowledge is of genetics, herbs, and medicine. I am a slave who was once owned by Umbrella corp."
She wiped her eyes slowly and pulled her hands down until they rested on her knees. "I will not die for any of you and I will not die because of any of you. If you think you can do well by yourself then leave and take your troubles with you, I have enough of my own." She stared at the ground as if it were the only thing listening to her ramble.
"My trust is in Kyle Hardin who saved my life. I freed him from the bathtub while he was naked. I watched him dress, the uniform had been provided for him. If you filthy humans are done squabbling I would very much like to leave before the creature comes to find us. My coat is in the hallway along with a towel I can use to make bandages to treat those who have injuries. Please."
She finally looked up and took the others in for a moment, the motley crew of survivors and humans. "Please stop fighting. There may be others less equipped to deal with survival alone. They will need all the help they can get, if you kill each other off I'll be the only one left and I can't fight!" She bit the last word a bit abruptly and her lip with it; a spill of fresh crimson dribbled down her chin which she quickly wiped away as though she were suddenly self conscious.
She sighed and regardless as to whether or not anyone had stopped and listened to her little speech she pushed herself up and headed for the door. She stood steady, almost tranquil but that would have required some essence of peace in her posture. "I'm leaving. Anyone can come along, I don't care who you are or who you worked for. I just want to survive tonight. Don't you?" She left the question hanging in the air as she opened the door and stepped out as calm and graceful as anyone had ever seen her. She knew in her heart she'd be balking at the first open area but it would be better than listening to the humans fight and being helpless to stop it.
She knew the fellow who had been trying to defend her thought he was doing well but she wasn't the one who needed defending just now. She didn't give anyone a chance to try and warn her as she shut the door briskly behind her. She collected herself and headed for the other door. If whatever was out there was waiting for her she'd be dead in a matter of moments wouldn't she? Brashness didn't suit her but quiet was the only thing that could possibly save her sanity and she just needed to steer clear of the Moroi and the other big bad beasties didn't she? Feh, she was royally fucked unless someone come running to keep up with her.
She almost balked at the second door because of the thunderous shaking but she took a breath and went for the knob. Whatever was out there she was pretty sure she'd seen and survived worse. She'd let a few big bads out in her day on someone else's shift just to remove some dicks from her competition. If she was still as good at hiding as she had been back then maybe she'd manage to survive a whole two minutes. Two minutes sounded good, it was the best she could do on her own at least.
She paused with her hand on the door knob as she waited to see if anyone would follow. She wondered who would be wanting to ride to her rescue or who would even consider giving up the quarrel to see if the only person without a weapon or training would be alright. She was a doctor not a boxer. She still felt a little bad for having walked away from Kyle. He had been rather kind to her but he was just as much at fault as the cunt-roll was.
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Post by King of Cunts on Jun 25, 2012 13:43:41 GMT -5
Burke turned his new firearm over in his hands. It was a .45 calibre semi-automatic, a custom job. Obviously not Shak’s gun, since she didn’t care enough about firearms to customise them. She spent all her extra money on knives. Unlimited ammo, she always liked to say. If he’d had to guess, it belonged to their UBCS friend, who was quickly starting to seem like he wasn’t UBCS at all. Yeah, he’d been there before.
It was difficult not to think that this guy’s appearance, his fake uniform, his weapon, his proximity to them both, had been engineered specifically to goad this kind of reaction out of them. It was exactly the kind of dick move someone who trussed people up to a chair surrounded by man-eating crows would pull. Not that he was doing himself any favours. Shak had freed herself with little effort and a fair degree of high humour, but that didn’t change the fact that he was man-handling close to the only person who still had his respect.
“Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” Burke snapped helpfully, giving the other man’s shoulder a shove, “don’t stand around wearing our enemy’s insignia and expect like we’re gonna play nice. The smart thing to do would have been to rip that shit off the moment you saw it. No sense in flying the bad guys’ colours unless you’re angling to have your intestines distributed around the room.”
Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. In a hostile environment like this, it was easy to think wearing Umbrella’s logo and playing along would get you out of a scrape or two. It might even have gotten you an airlift, in the middle of an outbreak. But in the eyes of Stars it was a target. Pure and simple. He and Shak would have ripped those patches off the moment they saw them, whether it got them into trouble later or not.
He glanced at Shak’s friend, eyebrow raised, and kept his hand well and truly at his side, where it couldn’t be shaken. “Ethan Burke. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
And to make matters worse, the party was splitting up already.
“Shit. We’d better save the meet and greet for later. She’s gonna get herself killed. Especially with the Stalker running loose.”
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Damen
Junior Member
Dark Sex God
Posts: 99
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Post by Damen on Jun 25, 2012 16:34:53 GMT -5
Kyle watched the woman as she exited the room, feeling a level of remorse for his role in what appeared to be a breakdown that had caused her to voice what were likely some very dark secrets. His shame was accentuated paradoxically by her voicing her confidence in him.
He let out a sigh and lowered his eyes as his thoughts turned inward, which were irrupted by the other man's mild shove. Kyle slowly looked down at his shoulder where the impact had happened, then turned a level gaze to the other man as he was reprimanded for his attire. The mercenary relaxed his stance enough to convey a displeased expression but remaining non-threatening as he slowly approached the speaker.
"I hold no love for Umbrella," Kyle said quietly but clearly once the man was finished talking; "When I was discharged from the Army, I joined the UBCS because they needed people with my skill set and I needed to eat."
His voice was slowly growing louder as he felt his integrity being called into question and jabbed a finger at his pistol in the other man's hand; "This is my personal weapon. I got it as a gift from my family when I turned twenty two. After the military, I carried it with me during and after the UBCS. For me, it's priceless."
He looked the other man in the eye, still non-threatening but not backing down from the position he had adopted and continued to speak in a matter-of-fact tone; "I remember leaving my weapon in my car before my memory blanked. Whoever left us here has also left weapons for us," he motioned with his head at the shotgun hanging on the wall; "I've never seen that shotgun in my life so clearly they have access to firearms. So they had to go through my car to get my pistol. And then they leave me the uniform I wore while I was with the UBCS."
"The only reason for them to do this," he continued while looking around at everyone present; "Is to send a message. 'We're watching you, we know you and we know what you value.' They're trying to fuck with our heads and so far, it seems to be working."
He once again directly addressed the other man who had seemed to be familiar with the woman who had assaulted him and this time he let the barest trace of belligerence slip into his voice but still maintaining the implacable, immovable appearance he had previously adopted; "I believe this uniform was left for me with the hope that it would elicit some reaction. That it would get under my skin being forced to wear it again. I'm not going to give them the satisfaction of thinking they got to me, even to the extent that I tear off the patches. Patches are cloth. Flags are symbols. But it takes a man who believes in them to make them mean something. And they don't mean a thing to me."
He turned and strode past the group to the door Jezebel had exited through; "Stay here or come with me, the choice is yours. But there's someone who will need our help and I'm not going to leave her to the wolves."
The door clicked shut behind him and he spotted the woman hesitating at the door. He put a hand on her shoulder in what he hoped would help put her at ease.
"I'm sorry for that, Jez. But let's get out of here now."
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Post by Queen of Cunts on Jun 25, 2012 19:09:27 GMT -5
Everyone was suddenly in a huff-puff-choo-choo, and she couldn’t understand why. But Burke was here, and he would watch her back. It wasn’t like they hadn’t done this before, although it had always been better when there were cigarettes. It was kind of a pity they didn’t have any of those now. Smoking and rescuing people were among her two favourite things to do, so why not multitask?
She was surprised at Debatably Ex-Scum. Wasn’t this just a usual day? Didn’t he know the UBCS were public enemy number one? They were the thing that made it dangerous to walk the streets at night, especially if you were a woman. Sometimes, they were even worse than the zombies. No doubt a walking corpse was pretty horrifying, but once you got over your first time, and the smell, they were just slow, stupid, frail human beings.
She could count the number of Stars who’d fallen to a horde on her fingers. But the number who’d been taken by the Company’s soldiers, UBCS included, she couldn’t count at all.
Still, it wasn’t like Burke had been working with those kinds of people either. From what he’d told her, he’d been fairly oblivious until the day he’d been enlightened by some colleagues of hers. Maybe it was true for him too. Maybe he just hadn’t known.
And she felt a twinge of sympathy to go along with her sudden realisation that she was glad she hadn’t woken up naked. Just the thought of that gave her the boak. She’d better watch it. Being compassionate was the first warning sign of becoming a little bitch. Next thing she knew she’d be growing ovaries and using soap.
She decided to go with her usual standby strategy for these kinds of situations: Let Burke deal with it.
She sidled up to John and offered him a lurid wink. “See if you can find some fags, girl pants.”
She caught Burke by the arm. “Come on. Let’s go get us a Tyrant.”
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R.E.S.
Full Member
Made In Heaven
A Hero's Not Afraid To Give His Life
Posts: 133
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Post by R.E.S. on Jun 25, 2012 22:09:48 GMT -5
Chris sighed as he watched the black-haired woman storm out of the room, unable to help feeling slightly guilty at her very emotional outburst. He couldn’t stop himself from feeling at least responsible in part in spite of the fact that he had only been trying to help everyone calm down and figure this situation out—he supposed that half of that guilty feeling came from the idea that he had been the one to lead Shak here and then that she had been the one to pick a fight with Kyle—the not so ‘Umbrella Guy’, as it turned out. Chris would have to make a mental note to stop referring to him as that.
But the other reason that he felt guilty… that purely-inhuman and tortured scream; the blood on her lips from her own pointed teeth; the declaration that she was a monster, and that firm insistence that she upheld about her hated for humans… it all hit a little too close to home for him. Her words reminded starkly him of the girl that he hadn’t been able to save, the one he’d been forced to cut the call and leave behind—a girl who’d grown up to become a Tyrant under that fucking bastard’s hand, only to one day in Chris’ arms just for daring to think for herself, a lifetime of ‘I hate all humans’ replaced by the notion ‘at least I was able to die free’ in her final moments... That had only been a half a year ago, and the pain of the memory was still a wound as open and as fresh as the moment that it had happened: it was one of his greatest failures yet. If only he had been able to save her, if only he’d had the chance, it would have, could have, made all the difference in her short-lived life.
When Kyle left, Chris left. There was no argument in his mind about priorities and who needed his protecting most. Even if she didn’t want his help, even if Kyle was the only one she put any stock in, that was just who Chris Redfield was. Or, he would have left, except something that Miss Shak said made him stop. Well, at least SOMEONE had listened to him. He also couldn’t help the small amount of frustration he felt at not being taken seriously when he said that he had been to the mansion once before—Chris could be an easily-frustrated person, and being ignored was not one of his personal favorites. Still, he was glad that the red-haired young woman was willing to sign a truce for the time being.
“Like I said, I’ve been here before.” Chris said, following Shak’s gaze to the Remington. “I can’t take that unless I find something of an equal weight to swap it with. Otherwise the ceiling in the next room over would flatten us like pancakes. We’ll just have to double back for it later.”
Then, for the first time, Chris actually got a good look at the final member of their party (in passing) on his trek towards the door, and familiarity clicked into place for him like a key turning a lock.
“Wait, Jonathan?”
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Post by sexystrife on Jun 26, 2012 3:01:04 GMT -5
(OOC: Wrote this in collaboration with R.E.S! Just wanted to get our meeting started!)
John hadn’t been long among the others, and even in the wake of their bickering the tension amongst them made him feel uneasy. Times were hard, people were starving, people were dying every day, and the monsters that once only haunted most people in their nightmares now walked freely and without consequence. Not one man could trust his life to his neighbor or his brother, nor could you rely on people thought to be your friends. Anyone could be bought, anyone could be sold, and anyone could throw you to the dogs these days. Times were hard, and their fighting served only to show the sick fruit of it all. This was what Albert wanted, he wanted everyone fighting, he wanted everyone stressed and ready to kill each other. Chaos, it is much easier to manipulate pawns wrapped in the midst of chaos. Jonathan clenched his teeth, steeling his gaze as he followed the other’s movements in suit of the woman that had screamed. Strange, she certainly didn’t look like any monster he’d ever seen. He wondered if the woman really knew what a monster was.
The blonde sighed softly, his eyes softening. So sad to see someone so young so bitter.
Jonathan’s thoughts soon left him as he found his attention suddenly drawn back to Shak, and suddenly the familiar creeping of unease started to climb up his spine as he caught sight of her face, causing a visible shudder to rack his form. Shak offered him a vulgar wink, wriggling her hips in excitement as she jogged along, taking hold of Burke and called for him to follow her.
Jonathan sighed softly, a faint smile claiming his lips as he started after her. Perhaps with her, perhaps with them joined now they could stand a chance. The blonde readied his weapon and followed for only a minute before a familiar voice halted him dead in his tracks. He turned suddenly, unable to clear the growing shock that seemed to burn itself into his very features. The older man’s voice echoed a haunting melody, one John had not heard in many years. His face, his voice, it just couldn’t be…
John’s form visibly tensed, almost as though he were uncertain as to whether or not he was dreaming. The blonde pressed forward, approaching the soldier in apprehension, his cobalt eyes widening with each new step as he finally beheld the other’s eyes.
“…Chris..?”
---
Chris grinned disbelievingly, the good-natured expression lighting up his weathered face with a boyishness from ages past. They didn’t really have the time for playing catch-up right now, but he couldn’t believe it; it had been so many years! Then Chris felt that smile falter.
…Too many years.
Chris had known John when he and his twin, Chris’ old Captain; a one Albert Wesker, were both in their late thirties. It had been years since, then—too many to bother counting now—and Jonathan still looked the same. He, like his twin, apparently hadn’t aged a day. Not one damn day.
“Yeah ‘s me but… what’re you doing here?” ---
A rare smile lit John’s face, and found the excitement that had slowly been burning behind the surprise within his eyes bled into his voice as he spoke; “Is it really you? H-how? When? How are you here?” John couldn’t stop the stream of questions that fell from his lips, he truly couldn’t help it. How? How was he even here? Jonathan stopped, removing his spectacles as though unsure before placing them back where they belonged. It was a dream, it had to be. John studied his face in silence, hushing his thoughts as he took in the brunette’s features. Aged yes, but he knew that smile and he knew those eyes.
“It really is you...” John breathed softly, his eyes glistening with unknown emotion before he lowered his head from the other’s view, allowing a small chuckle to escape him as he rose to catch the other’s gaze again. His emotions hidden.
“I’ll fill you in as we go.” John’s tone was sure as he reached to pat the other man’s shoulder in a friendly gesture he had not displayed in many years, “we need to get going.”
---
Chris nodded in firm agreement, that youthful look across his face was short-lived as he schooled himself back into an expression that was all-business—a façade that he had been forced to assume a long time ago in order to make life more manageable. It was a façade that some days he swore was eating him alive.
“Right.”
Jezza and Kyle could use the back-up, even if the personalities of this party were largely conflicting. Handling the mansion alone was reckless and stupid in his personal experience; the place was rigged to the teeth with puzzles and horrors beyond the imagination. When Chris opened the door into the larger room adjacent, Jezza and Kyle were still on the other side.
Still, Chris felt that there was something strange nagging at the back of his mind about the way that John had reacted to his person… he’d seemed far more surprised with the idea that Chris was alive and well than Chris had been; it was almost as though he had been unwilling to believe the idea that he was alive and well. Perhaps he’d been exposed to Umbrella’s secrets too? Did he understand the truth? Or maybe he was just surprised considering what had once been Raccoon was now leveled into nothing more than a parking lot—John had gotten out while things were still good. He’d have to be sure to ask about it later, but now hardly seemed like the time.
“Hey, we’re coming with you.” Chris said, speaking directly to Kyle;
“I can’t speak for everyone else, but I’m definitely not going to throw anyone to the wolves,” he offered with a smile.
Of all of the members of their little party (with the exception of Jonathan, perhaps), Chris found himself with the most respect for Kyle thus far. The man knew where he was needed, was instinctively protective of someone who couldn’t fend for herself, and he seemed to have at least a fairly basic level of respect for everybody right off the bat. Chris did have to agree with Burke that if he’d woken up with nothing to wear but an Umbrella suit, he’d have either torn the patches off or gone around in the buff—it wasn’t about how HE felt about the symbol personally. It was about what it meant to fly those colors. If he didn’t believe what umbrella believed in, he shouldn’t be wearing them—but nobody was perfect.
---
John allowed a small smile to find him at that, breaking through his mask for only a moment before it left him with the same feeling of dread he had felt earlier. He would have to catch up with Chris later. He started again, his boots moving in time with Chris’ own as they quickly caught up with the others, trying with some effort to ignore the thudding echo that sang with intense clarity through the floors of the mansion. John’s breath hitched, catching in the base of his throat as another horrid tremor resonated beneath his boots.
“Miss shak.” John’s voice emerged clipped, tinged with hidden fear as he took hold of her wrist with a freed hand, a gesture meant only for her. “It’s coming.”
They had to move now, no time for pleasantries
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Post by crystalofchaos on Jun 26, 2012 15:38:17 GMT -5
Jezza steeled herself and looked to Kyle, a tight smile forming her lips. Kyle was a good man and a fine human if she ever met one. "Just do me one favor if you can, don't die. You're one of the few humans I can tolerate, let alone enjoy company with." She turned at the sound of the other door opening and watched the others file out. Good, it seemed the humans did have some sense of decency and had stopped arguing long enough to see there was someone in need of assistance. How nice of them. She'd have to patch up the man who looked like he'd been chewed on by crows as soon as she got her towel and coat back.
With the other humans filing out she felt somewhat better. She made a note to pointedly more polite to the other man who seemed to have some measure of respect in him and waved a half hearted hello. "Glad you decided to join us sir." The word sounded sincere instead of bitter. She wasn't sure who anyone else was except she knew for a fact that cunt-roll's name or alias was Shak. "I'll have to ask names later. I'll be treating everyone according to protocol. Worst injuries first." Burke was looking decidedly like the worst, Shak was running second. She figured anyone without any apparent injuries or an unwillingness to be treated could suck it up.
She fixed her gaze back on the door and closed her eyes. Before she even tried the handle she pressed her ear to a lower part of the door and listened. The rumbling was getting louder, much louder. Her eyes shot open as the door shook violently and she took a step back. The rattling was getting so much worse and she knew what it meant. Oh, so it was going to be like that? She wasn't a fighter and she was well aware.
The woman practically dove behind Kyle and as he'd instructed her flattened herself as close to the floor as she could with her bag of goodies clutched to her chest. Fuck that noise. She wasn't willing to stay near the door when something bigger and scarier than her was coming on a rampage. She wished she had a cabinet to hide in that would fit her.
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Post by King of Cunts on Jun 26, 2012 16:29:04 GMT -5
It was gratifying to see that the rest of their little cabal hadn’t gone too far. With a Stalker on the loose, the body count could grow in the blink of an eye. People went off on their own and the next time anyone saw them was as a red stain on the wall where a Tyrant hammerblow had turned them to jelly. They were dangerous, more insidious than their unrestrained cousins in the way they seemed to vanish, then reappear minutes, or even hours, later, still bent on the same end goal.
He made a mental note to keep an eye on the woman. It wasn’t the way she was acting - stress was to be expected in a situation like this. She had physical deformities that weren’t consistent with anything he’d seen before. Chemicals and cancer didn’t give you teeth or eyes like those
She was infected, changed, and might still have been changing. She’d pretty much confessed to being one of Umbrella’s pets. That made her potentially dangerous. And if that happened, he wasn’t looking forward to having to pry Kyle off her. They’d have to cross that bridge when they came to it.
Besides, they had more pressing concerns right now. With a crash, a fist exploded through the door in a hail of splinters. The wrist swivelled, almost like a robotic crane arm in its stiff articulation, and the oversized hand latched around the jagged wood, tearing it away. Within seconds, the Tyrant had reduced solid oak to little more than kindling.
He brought the .45 up and grunted when he realised that the sights were aligned wrong. This wasn’t his gun. It didn’t sit in his hand the way he was used to. Overly customised, it was the piece of a man who could afford to have everything how he wanted it, rather than having to make do with what he could find. This wasn’t going to work.
“I think this is yours,” he said, flipping the pistol around in his hand and passing it back to Kyle, “don’t make me regret this, alright?”
He’d heard the other newcomer - Chris something - mention a trap connected to the shotgun on the wall. Something about the roof in that room collapsing. At worst, the gun would help them against the Tyrant. At best, the trap would.
“Keep that thing in that room,” he yelled, running back into the lounge and past Wesker, “as soon as you’ve got it in the centre, shout. We can crush that thing like an ant.”
Or they could piss it off, if they got it wrong. But it was worth a try, because between the .45, the 9mm and the shotgun, they really didn’t have enough firepower to take down a Stalker.
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Damen
Junior Member
Dark Sex God
Posts: 99
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Post by Damen on Jul 4, 2012 18:52:43 GMT -5
(OOC: Written with collaboration of CrystalOfChaos; apologies for the long absence)
Kyle's face had flattened into a completely neutral expression, as it often did when he sensed his plans quickly going sideways. When the Tyrant broke through the heavy door he took a few instinctive steps back as the lumbering giant wedged himself into the room. It was at that moment that Burke returned his pistol, saying something about not being a cause for regret. Kyle wasn't sure of the specifics; they were lost in the crashing and heavy footfalls of the monster entering the room.
Just as he was bringing his weapon to bear on the hulking monster, Jezza chose that moment to swan dive behind him and curl into a tight, fear induced ball of quivering terror.
Son of a cunt, Kyle thought to himself, now reassessing his priorities and trying to think of a way to keep the Tyrant off of Jezza while at the same time getting her to safety. It was clear to anyone looking that she wasn't about to move from her position. The mercenary backed up until the heel of his boot touched her stomach while at the same time taking careful aim at the hulking beast and fired four times directly into its chest. The bullets loaded in the magazines were hollow-points that had been well designed to cause a maximum amount of damage to soft tissue. They did their job, three of the rounds came ripping out of the back of his coat and splattering the far wall with a liberal amount of the creature's blood while the fourth round stayed inside the body to do more damage as the creature moved.
All sound cut out instantly, replaced with a high pitched whine and left him feeling as though he were in an airliner climbing to cruising altitude. He started muttering a string of curse words under his breath as he tried to roll Jezza out of harms way with his foot as though she were a sack of meal. It didn't work; she was curled into a ball too tightly to be easily moved.
As he was keeping an eye on the tyrant and waiting for his hearing to return, he recalled a UBCS briefing regarding this type of Tyrant. The Umbrella uppers may have thought of the UBCS as expendable, but no one thought of them as just cannon fodder. His commanding officer had known full well that they would be required to put down a number of Umbrella's creations and had run through all the known strengths and weaknesses of a wide assortment of horrors; prominent among them was the "T" model tyrant that was standing in front of him. While it was created from a human it was no longer human in any sense of the word, but it still had a few of the weak-points of an average human and if you did enough damage to it, it would go down and stay down. The only down part was being able to do enough damage before it closed the distance and smashed your head off of your shoulders.
Kyle had four rounds left in his weapon, so as the hulking creation stalked closer to him, he lowered his pistol, took a measured aim and fired two rounds in quick succession. The first round impacted just below the Tyrant's left knee, the second hitting the kneecap squarely and shattering it on impact. The mercenary allowed the muzzle jump to speed up his ability to take aim at his second, higher target and fired the last two rights directly into the Tyrant's left hip.
Umbrella's creation was large, capable of withstanding an absurd amount of damage with bones much stronger than that of a normal human and with muscle mass orders of magnitude more dense; but the bones still couldn't stop bullets and the muscles were useless without correctly working joints. The Tyrant went down on its shattered knee, further damaging the ruined joint and turned it's gaze upon the mercenary.
Kyle ejected the empty magazine from his weapon, slapped in a fully loaded one and racked the slide closed. He stepped back over the cowering woman and, keeping his weapon on the wounded monster as it surveyed the room, Kyle gathered up the back of Jezza's shirt in his left hand and dragged her back against the far wall, putting as much distance between himself and the creature as he could.
"Draw it away," Kyle said to the others in the room, his voice slowly coming back to his ears after the last round of gunshots briefly deafened him a third time that night and not taking his eyes off the tyrant; "I have to try and get her into the outside hallway. She's more of a liability right now than an asset."
His hearing had returned enough that he could hear the young woman repeating one word over and over again to herself: "Căpcăun." Kyle came from a military family. His ancestry ran through the history of the United States, but his grandparents had immigrated to Russia where his father was born. His father met a German woman whom became his mother and the newly weds immigrated back to the United States and joined the armed forces before he and his siblings were born. Kyle understood and could speak Russian and German, though far from fluently and he had a passing knowledge of this word after his family had been stationed in Romania for many years. "Ogre."
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Jezza peered up through her fingers as she felt the boot heel dig into her stomach. Was he wanting her to move? Not a snowball's chance in Hell. Then, the chaos broke loose. The shots being fired were like an assault on her senses and left her mind tripping over itself in confusion as the pain of the muzzle flash hit her like a brick or ten. The screeching noise in her ears was like a banshee had joined the party and had taken residence in her head. There weren't many thoughts looking to cross the woman's mind after that, not even if they looked both ways first.
The woman's shirt bunched in a disembodied grasp, the pressure on her back being the only thing she could barely comprehend in the moment. Her ears were ringing like a church bell after the first shot and she curled to try and cover her head more than before. The first muzzle flash had left sparks dancing through her vision like fireflies nesting in her brain, the second seemed to burn through her eyelids altogether and her vision went blank. The pain seemed to spread through her body from her eyes. The skull splitting pressure coming back as fresh as when she'd awoken in the bathroom.
It felt like a curling iron had been rammed into each eye and her blood was boiling from it. She did the only think she could think to do, cover her face. She whispered the word for the monster as though speaking it's name would banish it and end her agony. There would be no such luck. She could hardly make out Kyle's voice over the buzzing in her ears. She clung to the sound of his voice as though it were the only thing that would carry her through this nightmare.
Not now. The thought was barely formed as she wished her body to cease the dance of agony upon itself. She was being tugged up and needed to get her feet under her before something worse happened. She had to keep her feet under her and stay out of the way. Kyle was ill equipped to take care of this but she trusted him to protect her. If he was dragging her away she'd have to follow. She felt dizzy as she managed to stand upright, the world was nothing more than a spinning abyss of black and a raucous cacaphony of terror. The smell of smoke burned itself into her nose and for a moment she almost believed she might be in hell and her companion was facing satana himself while she was blinded.
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Post by Queen of Cunts on Jul 6, 2012 14:59:49 GMT -5
(OOC: Written with the cooperation of Lord Black.)
John had grabbed her wrist, waylaying her in the doorway as all hell broke loose. She turned back to him with her usual, easy smile. She wasn’t trying to be reassuring, but there wasn’t any sense in being grim either. She’d have to be dead and digested before she’d let any harm come to him. Or any of them, actually. Whoever had Titch was going to find themselves marked down in the League Table as double points. Yay, castration.
Still, he was obviously stressed. Usually, they had the same opinion about personal space, which was that it was theirs and no one else could have it. The fact that he was grabbing at her betrayed his agitation. She leaned in closer, still grinning.
“Don’t turn your back on them,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of the two who had left the room, “either of them. They’re Company. They can’t be trusted.”
Burke nodded to her as she ran to the door, nail-board in hand. Debatably Not-Scum was dragging Vagina out of the antechamber and towards the corridor, effectively stealing Sad Sack’s blow job action. The Stalker was on its knees, but it was a second away from righting itself and coming stomping after them again. And its first target would be Not-Scum, since he’d effectively turned himself into the most dangerous thing - and therefore the priority - in the room.
She contemplated letting the Stalker go after him, helpfully eliminating two potential problems. But if it turned out that they were scum then it would be stealing her points. And, since they didn’t know for sure yet, it might also upset John and Simple Sad Sack. In which case it needed to die.
“Burke! Do the thing, with the thing!” she said, gesticulating in a helpful manner to illustrate her instructions.
They had been working together for so long that he was able to decipher her words pretty much instantly. He grabbed the shotgun off the wall, and the brackets beneath lifted. There was a grinding noise from behind the wall, like ancient cogs turning in some kind of machine. Dust started to fall from the ceiling in the antechamber, and it began a slow, inexorable crawl towards the ground.
The Tyrant’s ability to detect danger wasn’t limited to active targets. Its head snapped up towards the ceiling, and a moment later its fists rose, meeting the falling stone. The mechanism behind it ground to a stop as its virally-enhanced muscle mass met it with equal force. Shak had often heard the monster referred to as machines. This pretty much proved it.
Her boot stomped its face. Its flesh was the colour, texture and toughness of stone. She didn’t even get the satisfaction of seeing her footprint on the side of its head. If she’d had her claws, she’d have sliced its face off. She settled for using her nail-board instead, swinging it like a baseball bat and spiking the jagged nail through its eyeball. Its elbows buckled, the pain and damage to its visual receptors taking it off-balance.
Burke’s hand grabbed a fistful of her shirt and yanked her backwards, out of the antechamber. Her board was still lodged in the things ocular cavity.
“Here,” Burke said, tossing the shotgun to Sad Sack.
Shak felt she should contribute too, so she pulled out a fistful of entrails from her pocket and tossed them at John. “Present!” she explained, her eyes already scanning for cigarettes.
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R.E.S.
Full Member
Made In Heaven
A Hero's Not Afraid To Give His Life
Posts: 133
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Post by R.E.S. on Aug 31, 2012 16:22:01 GMT -5
[OOC: hey guys, very sorry that this has taken me so long to write. There were just some personal issues keeping me from finishing my posts. Family-related drama and then my own inability to write. Hope to get things right back on track, and not to stall up again like this. You've got my most sincere apologies.]
Being as how his combat knife was the only tool at Christopher’s disposal, the brunette was forced to admit that he could contribute little in the way of taking their assailant down: Nobody in their party had the kind of fire-power it would take to bring a seeker model down permanently. Which meant that his knife would do exactly jack shit, and that was the blunt of it.
He could, however, help Kyle get Jezza to safety. That would have to make due for being forced to retreat, something that Chris simply didn’t like doing. Redfields didn’t run, they weren’t known for it. But he did know when cut his losses. Although Chris would have preferred to remain with the others, on the front line, without a firearm of his own he had nothing to contribute. He would be of the most use helping to secure the panicked woman’s escape.
When Kyle managed to wrangle Jezza to her feet and then drag into the farthest corner of the room possible, Chris joined them, assuring their not-so-Umbrella friend that Kyle could focus all of his attention back on the Tyrant while he got Jezza out of there.
The moment that the Tyrant was squarely in the centre of the room Chris shouted at Burke, who’d had the brilliant idea to use the trap-ceiling mechanism against the Seeker Tyrant model;
“THEY HAVE IT IN THE MIDDLE—DO IT NOW!” he declared as loud as he could, hoping to be heard over the explosive sound of gunfire blasting through such a confined space.
Then Chris grabbed Jezza’s wrist tightly, trying his best to draw her away while they had the chance. “Come on, we have to move.” He shouted, making sure that his voice was authoritative but non-threatening. It wasn’t working. Because he wasn’t Kyle, he gathered that she didn’t trust him enough to put her life in his hands. Chris tried tugged her in the right direction only once more and when Jezza refused to give he put her over his shoulder. She wasn’t going to be maimed to death by a Tyrant, nor squished, if he could help it. He wasn’t about to leave her behind just because she was too scared to think straight.
Jezza was taller than he was, but only just, and lighter too, which made the task easy enough. He’d had bit of practice in the art—US Air Force, S.T.A.R.S., as a civilian, and in B.I.O., there hadn’t been a time where the skill set wasn’t useful, and once again Chris found himself silently thanking a drill instructor whose name he couldn’t even remember—and he didn’t put her down until they were safely out in the hall.
Behind them the Seeker took blow after blow of any tool that the party had available to them, and they didn’t let up. It seemed to be working alright, because the Tyrant was still down on one knee and was staying there even as the constant grind of the ceiling above began to win out over the B.O.W.’s virally enhanced muscular structure. All parties escaped as the ceilings decent began to pick up speed, with Burke dragging Shak out very last. The stone roof of the booby-trapped room settled but a few feet off the ground behind them, causing a plume of plaster and dust to swirl around their feet before finally dissipating. Their enemy was pinned, crushed even, perhaps, but Chris didn’t for a second think that it was dead. Too convenient.
He caught the Remington when Burke threw it his way and smiled good-naturedly, relief and the adrenaline of the moment still coursing through his veins.
“Probably could have used this back there.” He quipped playfully.
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Post by sexystrife on Sept 7, 2012 22:06:09 GMT -5
((No problem, babe! I hope we can get this thing moving again then Also, sorry about the short post guys!)) The madness the tyrant had brought with its thunderous footsteps seemed to fade, leaving only the thunderous roar of his blood rushing from behind his eyes and returning to normal as his fear began to subside. He couldn’t allow that to escape him, not yet. John’s hands shook, his eyes wide as he beheld the incomplete mess left by the descending ceiling with a familiar sense of dread. The damned thing just wouldn’t be crushed; it simply refused to die until it had completed its mission. He watched as the creature drew itself to its knees and held the falling ceiling aloft with the strength of its massive hands, its blank eyes occasionally following the trek the humans had made as though in search of some target. What, what was it that the monster sought? Why them? Why this mansion? John steadied himself and exhaled slowly as he tried in vain to calm himself down; lord knew when he would have another moment to breathe and compose himself again. Though, he had not been long on his feet again before he found his heart leaping into the back of his throat at the sight of flying entrails soaring straight for his head. In a feat that could only be attested to months of practice, John dodged the horrid mass of organs, a feat that quickly sent the blonde’s blood pressure soaring. “I-I appreciate the sentiment, Miss shak,” John began, his voice quaking in time with the rest of his body, “but I don’t think it’s helping.”
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Post by crystalofchaos on Sept 14, 2012 12:14:19 GMT -5
((I'm baaaack! Short post is short.))
Jezza was a quivering mass of fear by the end of the campaign. Slung over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She thought it might be the respectful one who was a lot nicer than she gave him credit for. She was too confused and terrified to remember who was shouting what and who she could hear. With all the noise it could have been the asshole or cunt-roll for all she knew.
A few errant tears trailed from blind eyes to stain her cheeks as she rattled off an old prayer over and over again. The words barely made a whisper passed her lips as she trembled. She clung to the prayer like a security blanket. A memory of warmth where there once had been a sense of safety and love. A time when family was forever and she wasn't afraid. She blinked uselessly and continued her mantra.
"Domnul ne protejeze, să aibă milă de sufletele noastre. Păstrați departe de cainii iadului, stați diavolul de la ușa noastră. Rugați-vă îngerii pentru a ne păstra în condiții de siguranță, prin noapte până ne trezim." Lord protect us, have mercy on our souls. Keep away the hounds of hell, stay the devil from our door. Pray the angels to keep us safe, through the night until we wake.
The words repeated, tumbling over one another uselessly as she did her best not to move. The darkness in her vision was beginning to swim with color. Pinpricks of green and red danced about in a taunting pavane reminiscent of madness. Slowly one hand reached for something, anything, as she sought some foothold into the human world. The mumbling prayer ceased as her hand stretched out.
She was frightened, shaken, and very much not herself. She could hide her feelings in the usual controlled environments but here there were far too many variables for her to even begin considering. She needed something solid, something familiar to anchor her in the chaos of her pounding heartbeat and thundering terror.
"Kyle?" The name came slowly and almost tearfully as she waved her arm uselessly in search of him. "Where are you?" A whimper crept into her throat as she hung her head against the the flank of her savior, whoever it was.
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Post by King of Cunts on Sept 20, 2012 17:11:22 GMT -5
“Kyle, get her up,” Burke said, pointing to the quivering wreck huddled against the skirting board, “we need to move, before something worse happens.”
The civilian aspect of the job was the one that he liked the least. But he knew that the UBCS trooper was on friendly terms with their female civvie, and so he would be best to get her on her feet and moving. Right now, they couldn’t afford to be sitting around. If someone had sent a Stalker after them, that meant they wanted them dead. Or at least, wanted to keep them duly occupied. And a Tyrant could do a pretty good job of that.
For now, it was pinned, but there was no telling how long it would stay that way, or what else might be lurking around. But one thing was for sure. Whatever game they were trapped in had some serious finance behind it. He’d never seen a Stalker outside of an official Black Umbrella auditing operation. Marauder Tyrants were black market jobs - defective, antique merchandise you could find rampaging through most South American and African jungles - but this one was top of the line.
And he’d just given away his gun. Both of his guns.
“We need to find a better position. Does anyone have any ideas?”
He looked around at the group until his eyes met Shak’s. She was grinning.
“I still think we should have shot him,” she said, knowing full well she was within earshot of Kyle.
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