|
Post by Balto-Boy on Aug 8, 2010 14:16:01 GMT -5
Ladies and gentlemen, we have hit the 100-page mark. Exciting, I know. And we STILL gots a ways to go, here. Chapter 12: Obedience A group of three walked down the sidewalk, two adults and a child. The mother grasped her son’s small hand as they proceeded down the street, while the father walked alongside of them, hands in pockets. “But I wanna go to reg’lar school!” Scotty complained to his mother. “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong! Why do I have to go here?!” “Well, this school will be better for you,” Sheila told him. “You’ll learn more, quicker!” “But I wanna see my friends!” “You can see them all you want AFTER you get home.” “Dad!” Scotty pleaded as he looked up to his father. “Dad, don’t make me go here!” Mike’s face was blank in concentration (or more likely absent-mindedness). Without even thinking, the first words that came to his head came to out of his mouth. “Whatever Mom says.” Scotty could be heard groaning in disapproval. Up ahead on the right side of them was a small apartment building a couple of blocks away. The apartment building was small and very modest, maybe ten rooms at most. It was not dirty from age or carelessness or any sort of manner, but it certainly would not be the first choice of abode for anyone making a middle-class income. It could easily be lost among the other trees of the concrete jungle that is Brawl City, but its lack of boast did not mean that it did not have anything to boast about. The three approached the door to the a tower of substantial heights. Its exterior was somewhat similar to a prairie style of architecture: limestone made up much of the base and the frames of the windows, but the majority of the buildings look was created by its darker-green paneling and a large brick chimney poking out of the slanted roof. Sheila noticed a tall panel, decorated in gold framing, next to the door. Listed on it were names next to a series of doorbells all above a fist-sized speaker. Sheila browsed up and down the list of names, mumbling to herself in the process. “Ne, ne, ne... M... N... ah! Here we are!” Sheila pressed a button next to a panel reading “Nekrozoa”. A muffled doorbell ring could be heard from behind the door. The three shuffled slightly for a moment, gazes brushing around in a bored manner. Except for Mike, who seemed as if he were lost in his own personal little world, his eyes locked solid onto nothing in concentration. A dull voice sparked over the speakers. “Yes, who is there?” “It’s us, Mr. Nekrozoa!” Sheila responded immediately. “My dear,” the toneless voice responded, “I deal with multiple customers and clients on a daily basis, so excuse me, but you need to speci-” “Scotty’s parents” Mike snapped irritably. “...I apologize for upsetting you,” the voice said, still monotone. “Wait a moment...” Shortly after the voice spoke this phrase, a buzzing could be heard through the speaker. The hardwood door unlocked, and Sheila was able push on the handle and fall inside. Immediately, they were greeted by a staircase in a hallway filled with doors, various, unique noises of activity coming from behind each one. Singlefile, the family of three silently headed up the staircase for a couple of flights, and then knocked on the third door to the left, which was already ringing with the calls and chuckles of young children. The door clicked open and a man peered through. He wore blue slacks and a dark-grey turtleneck. His skin was a very light tone of grey, much like the color of snow just barely polluted by passing car exhaust. His eyes were fairly big, placed in a face that wore only one apathetic expression. “Lovely of you to stop on by,” Nekrozoa said to them in that same tone. He looked down to Scotty. “You can head on inside, if you wish. The other children are playing on their own.” Scotty looked up to Nekrozoa in a sort of sad, intimidated stare like a scared orphan. He was soon comforted by his mother. “See, Scotty?” Sheila assured him as she lowered herself to his eye-level. “There are other children here And they’re your age, too ” “Most are,” Nekrozoa corrected. “Some are slightly older by-” “You’re not helping,” Mike interrupted again, still with the unfocused demeanor. Nekrozoa stared at Mike for a moment, though it was impossible to tell exactly what the man was thinking. “I... I don’t like him, Mom,” Scotty stuttered. “I think he’s a robot... or... something.” “I assume that you’re referring to my seeming lack of emotion,” Nekrozoa spoke. “Do not worry. I certainly do feel, but I hurt my head in an accident from long ago and have lost most of my ability to express them in any manner.” Scotty refused to acknowledge Nekrozoa. “See? That’s what a robot would say. I think he’s a terminator.” “Oh, that movie isn’t real ” Sheila patted Scotty on his shoulder. “Now, go on inside and make some friends We’ll be back very soon. Promise.” Scotty briefly shot a glance at Nekrozoa in contempt. Reluctantly, he headed towards the door that led to the chants of children and the clacks of their playthings. Scotty inched inbetween Nekrozoa and the doorway, making sure to push all of himself against the frame so that he could get as much distance between him and the robot as possible. As soon as Scotty wandered shyly into the apartment, the noises the children inside made were suddenly focused on him, sayings of appraisal and welcome filling the room. “Sorry,” Sheila whispered as she stood again. “He’s kinda shy...” Nekrozoa turned his gaze back from the room behind him. “True,” he said. “But he’s cautious. And smart. Good traits for a Brawler.” Mike shivered at the very mention of that certain B-word and started to step away, but he managed to resist the urge to storm out of the building. Sheila didn’t notice, but Nekrozoa did. “I appear to keep upsetting you,” Nekrozoa told him. “My apologies.” Mike’s response was silence. “He’s not taking this situation well,” Sheila whispered. Mike acted as if he didn’t hear her. “He’ll be okay, right?” “Of course,” Nekrozoa assured. “And... and he won’t find out...” “If he did not know who I am, then there is no way he would recognize the children. Between you and me, they have some of the highest security the Brawlers could give. Their locations are always kept secret and any sort of paparazzi that sees them is... physically dealt with. Besides the High Command, I am just about the only Brawler that knows about them. And the other children are aware of what is happening, so they will stay quiet.” “...and they understood it all?” “They are children, ma’am. They may be undereducated, but by no means are they stupid.” “Why so hush-hush?” Mike spoke up. Nekrozoa turned his gaze to him. “...It is amazing as to what lengths a Villain Brawler would go in order to achieve something. And the powers of these children are not yet strong enough to deal with Number Nine or Zarth or any other Villain. They are very vulnerable targets.” In a fairly slow movement, but surprising to Nekrozoa, Sheila grasped on to his shoulder and leaned in to a distance close enough to converse in whispers. Mike cocked and eyebrow and watched carefully. “I want to be sure, here,” Sheila told him. She reached into a bag of hers, and pulled out a green-and-white ball with the large GS letters on it, pushing it towards him. Nekrozoa looked up to see Sheila gulp. Her eyes were wide and a cold sweat was just barely beginning to form. Her chest was rising just a little more quickly than when she originally stepped up to the door. Her face stayed in a stone-solid lock, but the quickened breathing and her owl eyes gave her away. Nekrozoa cupped the GS Ball and pushed it back to Sheila. “I do not have abilities as glamorous as other Brawlers. But mine are just as powerful. The plasma I can generate has the ability to literally melt the faces of my opponents. Enough of a blast, and I could take off a man’s head with just a wave of my hand. So you keep it. You will need it much more than me.” Mike raised his head at this mention. “And why’s that?” he asked. “Because,” Nekrozoa warned. “If the Omnipresence does not already know where you are, then he will probably find out. Now, you two should leave before you draw too much suspicion.” “Suspicion? Who’s suspicious?” Sheila asked almost frantically. Nekrozoa turned back for a moment to the children behind him. Then he turned back. “Your son, of course. Or he will soon.” Sheila looked back over Nekrozoa’s shoulders. She could see Scotty standing with a pair of children that have clearly grown used to this environment. While Scotty was still acting like a shy little boy, he was alright so far. Sheila turned around, and beckoned for Mike to follow. Nekrozoa peered past his door, and listened as Sheila and Mike could be heard meandering down the stairway. Once he was satisfied, Nekrozoa pulled the door back behind him and returned to his work. The sound of the door closing caught Scotty’s attention. “Did Mom and Dad leave?” “Yes, they did. Hence why I shut the door,” Nekrozoa told him as he walked back to his teaching chair. Scotty turned back to the other two children he stood with. He looked down to the boy sitting in front of him, who wore a bit of a smirk. Scotty wove a thumb to point at Nekrozoa behind him. “...he’s a terminator.” ***** The conference room was filled with a sort of odd stillness in it. While people were indeed speaking as they were felt to do so, there was an aura of awkwardness wavering around the Brawlers inside. On the table everyone sat around, there were papers scattered all over: maps, building blueprints, Brawler records, pretty much anything that they felt was needed. The various scrapes and bruises were carried by the Brawlers from recent battles. Swordkill and John seemed to be more war-torn than any of the others, Swordkill wearing bandaged on about 70 percent of his body and John so bruised that it looked like he fell from a 50-story building. Of course, for Brawlers, these injuries would disappear in a matter of days. The focus seemed to be upon Gunsmith, or at least that’s how MadGamer wanted it. “Gunsmith, I want to know exactly what we’re dealing with, here.” Gunsmith put down the record for Scorpion in front of him and looked around the table. “Well, I was only employed there for a year or two. The man I worked with, Dr. Genius, was conducting small experiments with some sort of newly-discovered substance. He managed to spill that material, and that contributed to my powers. But that stuff is solely responsible for Bloodlust’s powers...” “And this was all on The Other Side?” John asked. “Yes, it was. I’m not sure what he was going to do with it. I believe he said that he wanted it to be used on the battlefield. Chemical weapons, healing tonics, stuff like that. He had a lot of ideas for it.” Quickfeet was looking up Gunsmith’s file, which happened to be just next to him. “Who was he doing this for? Himself?” “No. Well, sorta. He was one of a lot of scientists contributing to the whole institution.” “How big is it?” McJesus asked him. “When I was employed there, it was mainly U.S. scientists with a small number of foreigners. Of course, that was years ago. I have no clue as to how big it is now.” “I’d be willing to bet that it’s gained some girth,” Grimscott spoke to them. “Those guys I saw looked PRE-tyyy serious. Like, army serious.” “Yeah ” Swordkill almost jumped. His sore body, however, was what kept him seated. “John and I had to fight off a bunch of army guys Well, I did most of that...” “That copy of Balto isn’t much of a push over, y’know...” John hissed. “Besides, you got your ass kicked by a girl in a sparkly dress.” MadGamer turned his head to look towards John, his face pert with curiosity. “Girl in a sparkly dress?” John looked back. “Yeah. Another one of those people showing up lately. Swordkill, what could she do? All I could see was you being swung around like a ragdoll.” Swordkill let out a loud sigh towards John’s remark. “Welll...” Swordkill started with a lowered brow. “She could make stuff happen by singing. She starts singing a song, and I get flung by a shift of wind or I get melting rocks thrown at me. Weird stuff like that...” MadGamer spotted one of the aforementioned files on the table out of the corner of his eye. He slid the files on top away slightly, just so the file photo was shown: a picture of a young man with long and dirty black hair, head covered in piercings, clothes worn and trashy, and a large custom guitar modeled to resemble a demon’s head. “That sure sounds familiar...” MadGamer said to himself. Gunsmith peered over past MadGamer’s hand to see the picture himself. “Huh... how many does that make, exactly?” “Five,” MadGamer answered while still looking down. “Five of these guys, four of which are pretty much Brawler copies. I wonder if there are copies of all of the missing Brawlers...” Gunsmith turned in his chair almost dramatically to look up to MadGamer. “Speaking of which... how exactly are you associated with The Factory?” MadGamer spun around. “What? I’m not!” “Clearly, you are,” Gunsmith stated. “If these copies are with The Factory, then their counterparts are, too. We fought your copy, MVG, so what’s up?” “Honestly, I haven’t a damned clue.” “Of course you don’t...” Gunsmithe murmured as he faced away from him. MadGamer looked his way with a look of contempt. His glare on Gunsmith was so focused, it looked as if he was trying to make Gunsmith’s brain melt using only his mind. “SCANDAL. I SMELL ONE.” Grimscott yelled out of nowhere. “I smelled it first,” Gunsmith muttered under his breath. MadGamer’s glare flickered between both Grimscott and Gunsmith. Finally, it looked as if he was about to yell at all of them as loud as he could. At the last second, though, he stopped himself. A couple of the Brawlers around him waited in anticipation for a hissy fit with an Asian accent, but it never happened. Before anyone’s eardrums could be blown, MadGamer took a deep breath to calm himself. Then he looked to them all. “There is no scandal here. I honestly have no idea how these guys know me. So, here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna let the others know about these guys. With more numbers, we can destroy these guys.” “Are we sure we want the other Brawlers to know about this?” McJesus asked. “Yes. You saw that news video the other day,” MadGamer said to him. “One of those guys can take on four of us. I don’t care what Balto said, he’s gonna need help. Besides, we have no idea how many other Brawlers are related to The Factory. They’re a danger to all of us.” ***** The wavering of the water below put Sabre in a trance-like state of inflection. His feet dangled off the side of a walkway bridge as he gazed down into a fairly clean stream. This day had been a typical, boring day. Sabre didn’t have much to do and nothing entertaining was on television, so he walked along the footpath to kill the time, learn a bit more about this new city. As he wandered, though, his mind began to wander. And as it so happened, his mind wanted to wander back to the words that General Reponza spoke to him only days before in the mall elevator. It wasn’t even anything more complex than a single sentence. “I want you to know, Sabre, that we’re here.”The general spoke these words to Sabre, and then simply got off the elevator on the next floor down. Sabre wasn’t entirely sure if this was a warning or some freak attempt at comfort, to let him know that others like him were finally in the city. The way the man said it, it sounded almost as if it were a threat. It seemed that a certain group of “old friends” had followed him. But he knew that it was bound to happen eventually. Balto-Boy’s sudden resignation as the Brawlers’ Ruler and Commander made since now. Sabre could hear footsteps behind him. Accompanying them were the sounds of idle smalltalk, a friendly chit-chat between a young couple. Sabre briefly looked behind him to get a look at the two typical Citizens of the city. How ignorant they were about what was going on backstage. Of course they wouldn’t know, though. High Command surely did all that they could to keep the matter under wraps. The little news spectacle surely didn’t help in their efforts. Sabre grew bored sitting there. He threw a small rock across the stream in order to kill the solitude a little. Four skips across the water wasn’t bad, but not his best. That done, he calmly stood back to his feet and walked down the path once more, his hands tucked snugly in his hoddie’s large pocket. Sabre looked around at the architecture of the city. So much of it was much like the large cities of the land he came from: large skyscrapers of stone and brick adorned with glass and advertisements. But this city seemed much more open, as opposed to the crammed and cluttered streets of places like New York City. The streets were wide and the cars evenly spaced, and the people walking on the streets each seemed to have their own personal bubble. Everyone wasn’t squished and smashed together like a herd of cows on their way to the slaughterhouse. Still, the resemblances to the previous universe and this one were uncanny. Sabre couldn’t help but wonder if the two places were already linked in some way, even before The Factory came up with their insane technologies. Despite its vastness -and the fact that it was filled with hundreds of super-powered gladiators that fight each other in order to fight boredom- Brawl City seemed like an fairly peaceful place. The streets were at a tolerable noise, people at least acted like they tolerated each other, and Sabre had yet to see any sort of major crime. Granted he hasn’t been in the gigantic Brawl City for very long, but it seemed like, at least to him, that he’d have seen at least one robbery or the likes at this point of his stay. Still, though, nothing extraordinary. As Sabre fell yet again into his inflecting trance, he felt a tap on his shoulders. He snapped out of it immediately. Quick as he could, Sabre spun in a one-eighty and flashed out a set of blades on one of his arms. Small bits of fabric from his hoodie fluttered around him as he took aim at his possible assailant. The two bodies smashed down on the hard sidewalk, Sabre’s bladed arm against the other person’s neck. “...ta-take it easy, Sabre. It’s just me.” Before acting out a blind fury of flesh destruction and mayhem, Sabre looked to see just exactly who he tackled to the ground: a 12-year-old boy with messy hair and a large pencil strapped to his back. Ever since their first encounter together, Pencil Boy has become what might be called a friend to Sabre. At the very least, the two were common acquaintances. In either case, the two met up with one another on what seemed like a semi-regular basis. Even if their relationship was certainly an odd one, the two managed to get along. “Oh. Sorry about that,” Sabre informed as his blades retracted. He proceeded to let open a hand for Pencil Boy to use as leverage to stand. Pencil Boy brushed off his clothing and some bits of dirt out of his hair. Passing people were looking on in curiosity, but that didn’t seem to concern the two. “So...” Pencil Boy started off. “What the hell flew up your butt and died?” Sabre was rubbing the back of his head in a faint sign of embarrassment. “Nothing. I’m just sort of... antsy.” “Oh. The newbie a little started by all the super people walking around? Ah, don’t worry, everyone is at first.” “Right,” Sabre meekly muttered. There was a bit of an awkward pause between this point and when Pencil Boy spoke again. “Anywaaaays...” Pencil Boy began. “I was heading towards Players’ Club” -a successful arcade in the Southern part of the city- “and since I saw you, I figured that I’d tell ya now. The High Command Brawlers are gonna call all of the Brawlers to a rally some time this week.” “What about?” “Eh, something about ‘problem Brawlers’ or something. I dunno, it’s a rumor I heard from Bulet. Supposedly it’s true, but we all know how trustworthy that guy is ” As soon as the “problem Brawlers” phrase was said, Sabre’s mind went straight back to his encounter with Reponza in the mall elevator, his mind tuning out whatever the hell else Pencil Boy was muttering to himself. Clearly, the Factory has been at work behind the scenes and the higher-ups knew about it. Though, Sabre has seen what people from the Factory can actually do. The Watchmen Brawlers need to have a better plan than “beat the shit out of them”. “Hey Hey, Sabre You in there, bubzy?” Pencil Boy was snapping his fingers irritably in front of Sabre’s face. He must have noticed Sabre drifting into his own train of thought. “What were you thinking of there?” he asked. “Nothin’,” Sabre muttered. “Just thinking. What Brawlers, exactly?” “Bulet didn’t say, but I’d bet that it’s a bunch like that armored-up, kung fu guy on the news the other day ” Victor...Pencil Boy was waving his hands around like a dying spider to describe the scene broadcasted. “How that one guy was able to spin around in some fistycuffs and bring down four guys at once Oh, man That was totally awesome Imagine how much he would make if he were registered and kept on being all badass That’s what happens when you don’t have a TV, Sabre: you miss all the badassery He’d make more on toys-” “So what are we doing?” Sabre calmly interrupted. Pencil Boy lowered his arms as a sign that he suddenly lost concentration on the subject. “...what do you mean?” “You said there’s a rally. Do we just walk in at some point or what?” “Nah Bulet said that all of the guys up at Command have summon items for all of us. If Bulet’s not full of his usual shit, then we’ll just poof there some time.” The implication of this possibility had Sabre concerned. The Watchmen could call Brawlers to their building whenever they wanted? He found that idea somewhat scary. “...I didn’t even make summon items for me.” “Well, neither did I. Like I said, it’s IF Bulet isn’t filled with his usual shit. And that’s a big ‘if’ ” It suddenly occurred to Sabre: if all of the Brawlers had summon items, then why didn't they use those of the missing Brawlers to bring them back? Sabre was absent-minded with this thought as he continued conversing with Pencil Boy. “Well... thanks, I guess. Doesn’t help a whole lot, though.” Pencil Boy shrugged. “If it does happen, at least it won’t be a surprise now Anyways, I gotta get goin’. Arcade’s gonna fill up with the usual fatties pretty soon. I’ll see ya later, Sabre ” “Yup. See ya,” Sabre said without looking back at him, still trudging on in his direction, pondering about the fate of the gigantic city and its people. ***** Southpaw stood patiently in front of the General’s desk, which was littered with folders and files. Around them were a team of men sitting at various consoles, monitoring various screens, concentrating through the constant flashes and bleeps that pounded at their senses. Those that weren’t staring into electronic oblivion were dashing around frantically to deliver information to and from those that were. In the middle of it all, where the General Reponza sat to order these men around, Southpaw and his team stood together for an update on the situation at hand. The fight between the Finales and the Brawlers in the Cavern had not gone unnoticed. As soon as sparks started flying, one of the soldiers radioed the headquarters for backup of any sort. The soldier was told that no one could get to the Cavern to support the troops in that station. General Smith overheard the call and informed Reponza, as he wanted to know about any hostile activity happening. By the time Reponza was found and informed, however, the battle had just ended, the Brawlers essentially incapacitated. At first he was pleased. Then he found out that none of the Brawlers involved were on their list. And then he was pissed. He already wasn’t too pleased since the MadGamer’s capture wasn’t going as planned, and this all didn’t help. “Why the hell would you attack Brawlers we aren’t going after?” Reponza moaned as he massaged his forehead with his thumb and index finger. “They were looking for us, sir,” Southpaw replied. “There was a Brawler that was looking straight at us from the air. We had to act quickly.” Reponza took some time to respond to this rebuttle of Southpaw’s. The Brawlers were not targets, but their hideout in the Cavern would’ve been found out if they let the Brawler known as Angelface just fly on past them. Southpaw could from Reponza’s aggravated silence that they had reason enough to provoke the fight. He was cautious not to show it, but it gave him some smug satisfaction. “Well, now we’re gonna have Brawlers out the ass looking for you dumb fuckers ” Reponza snapped, his face turning red and his accusing finger flailing around the room as if it were attached to an epileptic. “We can still carry out our operations no problem,” Victor said coolly from behind Southpaw. “Most of us can disguise ourselves with a simple change of clothing, and Southpaw can use that glove's shadow form to hide as well.” “That’s what we are going to do anyways,” Reponza stated, somewhat agitated. “But now, it’s going to be a fucking bitch to get Starkly and Riq out in the field...” “Sir,” Southpaw interrupted. “Starkly is a damned tank. Not even McJesus can touch him. He could simply walk place-to-place with no trouble.” Reponza was sure to ignore him. “We used to have room for error. Not anymore. That was one mistake we couldn’t afford, and it was a fucking huge one!” Reponza slammed his hands on the desk, and then propped himself up. He began to pace in a tiny line back and forth behind the desk. He acted as if he wanted to yell something, his tensed muscles quaking and his teeth gritting together, but his rage made it impossible to form the words. Southpaw, Starkly, Victor, Gloria, and Vertex all had their eyes following the enraged man. Gloria was a little more amused than the others, and let out a giggle. As soon as that little “tee-hee” was uttered, Reponza stormed past the desk, shoving it aside with a loud squeal, and stomped his way at Gloria and brought his searing face so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath. Even with pure wrath staring her in the eyes, she still carried that dumb smile of hers. “You find something fucking funny?” Reponza almost whispered. “The way you were moving back there was kind of funny,” Gloria said without missing a beat. She giggled again. Reponza’s eyes stayed locked with Gloria’s, though his teeth pressed against each other a little harder. Reponza reached into his uniform’s inside pocket. He pulled out a fairly large remote with a plethora of red buttons on it. Next to each button was a unique sequence of three numbers. Finales looked back to notice the device, some of which twitched a little afterwards. They looked at the device in hand and gulped loudly, some of their arms rubbing against themselves in a sign of discomfort. Gloria looked and watched Reponza’s thumb hover the button next to the sequence “ARC”. Her constant smile disappeared, her lower lip quivered very slightly. In no time at all, her entire body quivered and trembled as if that little circle around her feet was the only place affected by a 7.1 earthquake. Her mouth moved up and down; breath barely seeping from her lips, as if her sould were trying to escape from her body. A bead of cold sweat could be seen sliding down her abnormal neck, and people would go on to swear that her face was turning greener than a grassy meadow. She shook her head very quickly. “Nothing was funny,” she quickly stammered. “Nothing was funny at all.” Reponza managed to seal away his teeth, which should be cracking from the pressure of his jaw at this point, and tried best as he could to calmly put the remote back into his uniform’s pocket. He spun back around and walked back to his spot at his desk, the Finales in the room looking a little more worried about Reponza than they did before, Gloria holding herself with one arm and breathing deep, slow, and stuttered. Reponza hung his head down from behind an interlaced set of fingers. He finally took a deep breath and looked back to the star-struck group of Finales in front of him. “Look, I’m stressed, as you can tell,” Reponza said in a surprising dull tone. “Why don’t you folks just go on back to your quarters. Take a break, relax, and I’ll do the same. It will calm all of our nerves.” Some of the Finales immediately headed for the exit doorway, clearly wanting to leave. Gloria was the first in that line that was out the door. Southpaw had lost his calm cool, and nervously nodded politely instead of the standard “Yes, sir” type of response. He was soon to follow, leaving Reponza in the busy room to massage his head. “Umm... sir?” a shy voice pepped curiously from one of the consoles in the room. “What?” Reponza moaned yet again, still rubbing his head. The person’s voice was still very shy. “Well, uh, if I’m not imposing or something... what exactly does that, uh... thing do?” Reponza sighed deeply through his nostrils, dropping his hands to his desk and looking over to the console working in front of him. “It makes them listen,” He said simply. “It makes them listen to us.”
|
|
|
Post by destructin on Aug 8, 2010 19:25:24 GMT -5
everything is looking fine and dandy.
Now continue slave! *whip*
|
|
|
Post by Icebrigade on Aug 8, 2010 19:40:54 GMT -5
This story deserves to be continue. Is good story!
On a side note, why does Sabre seem so familiar?
|
|
|
Post by Balto-Boy on Sept 6, 2010 1:28:52 GMT -5
On a side note, why does Sabre seem so familiar? I dunno. Maybe you're thinking of Wolverine or something. I have no clue how your crazed mind works. Anyways, MOAR. Chapter 13: The Public Option Scotty was still adapting to this new environment of his, this new sort of home-schooling. This was day four of listening to this man teach in his apartment, and he has yet to learn the names of the other children. Scotty has kept to himself these past few days, mostly spending his time in the back of the rooms reminiscing about the days he had on the playground with his old friends. Still, it wasn’t bad here. At least Mr. Nekrozoa would give the children an hour’s play in between lessons, which were typically about five or six hours long, depending on the day’s subject. Since Scotty has been here, they have been studying algebraic concepts. Today, Mr. Nekrozoa decided to concentrate on Old World legends, today’s being about the most broad: The Ultimate Brawler. Typically, Scotty would be lost in an absent train of thought, but seeing as they were going to talk about Brawlers in today’s class, he was paying attention. “...the People of the Void cried out for shelter from the great beast that laid siege to their lands,” Mr. Nekrozoa was reading (rather dully) from a fairly large and old-looking book. “Nations brought forth their bravest to do battle with the beast, but army after army after army fell to its sweeping grasp. The strongest men the Void has ever known were wiped from its surface so to leave their lands calling to the beast with all of their splendor. “Women wept and children hid as the beast did its way with the land around them and cleaning it of its People and all of their works. Those who lived in these days pleaded to the Skies and begged for their Peoples to send them fortune and bring a warrior that could destroy the beast. “As the People of the Void cowered under the tattered remains of their land, a light descended from the Skies that shone all around so that all of the Void’s People were blinded by its magnificence. And out of this light stepped one of the Skies’ People, who Himself shined with a glory as grand as the light that shielded Him. He was clothed in what was too glorious for the mightiest of the Void’s People, He bore a winged back with feathers that glistened grander than the finest of the Void’s gems, His weapons possessed strength greater than all of the men that fell before the beast of the Void. “The Void’s beast swept across the lands and created a path himself that led to the Warrior, who awaited the beast’s arrival as all the Void’s People awed at him and shouted praise and worship towards Him. The beast marched on its path to confront the Warrior who challenged its strength. The beast brought all of its abilities upon the Warrior, which shattered and shook the Void and its People. The Warrior stood firm and struck the beast with His own abilities from the Skies. The battle lasted for days upon days upon days to extent where the Void’s Peoples have lost count of the days. After those days, the Warrior struck a blow upon the beast, so that it crippled and lost much of its power. The beast lay wounded before the Warrior, but still possessed a power that was capable of destroying both the Void and the Skies. The Warrior raised another weapon, engraved with the writings of the People of the Skies, and raised it so its face looked to the beast. “‘HEAR ME NOW, WRETCHED CHILD, BE SEALED BACK INTO THIS PLACE. FREE THE VOID’S PEOPLES AND THEIR NATIONS. HIDE AWAY BACK INTO THIS WORLD AND NEVER RETURN.’ “And the Void shattered and shook and split to reveal its gaping mouth and its tremendous teeth. The beast struggled as the Void’s mouth devoured it, though crippled by the Warrior’s blow. The Void then swallowed the beast in its entirety and it never again gave harm to the Void’s Peoples or their nations. And the People praised the Warrior and worshiped Him. But as their praises grew too loud for their own ears, the Warrior evaporated into a clusters of bright spectres that shown as bright as His own carriage. The Void’s People raised their hands and pleaded for their Warrior to return and protect them, but these spectres quickly dispersed, speeding away at tremendous speeds. This was the last day the Skies’ Warrior has been seen.” Nekrozoa had explained the legend to the children because he knew well enough that their parents never explained it to them. They were either too busy with their lives or didn’t believe in the legend at all, however Nekrozoa thought it was a good idea for the children to know about their world’s ancient peoples and their writings. He brought down the book so the children of the room could see it themselves. All five of them crowded around the book to look at its text, Scotty seemingly the most anxious of the bunch. When the children took a good look, they realized that the text was an odd series of scribbles. “What is this nonsense?” said the oldest: a boy with a beanie hat, bandanged arms, and rather large torso, as well as eyebrows. “The text is in Andolnese,” Nekrozoa said coolly, “a language from very long ago.” “And you can read that? ” exclaimed a baseball-capped girl through her stuffy nose. “Well, yes,” Nekrozoa told them. “I studied it for some years when I was younger.” Nekrozoa flipped through these pages, showing the children all of what was recovered of the short tale of the Ultimate Brawler. After the text was done, Nekrozoa turned to the next page. On that page was a scan of a very old, yet fairly detailed stone carving. Immediately, all of the children oooohed and aaaahed. “Who’s that guy? ” the same girl as before yelped. “That is a stone carving of the Warrior from the story,” Nekrozoa told them. The children peered their heads as close as they could to the book in order to get a better look. As soon as they did, they were quick to point out some of the features of the man in the carving. “Look ” one almost shouted. “He’s got McJesus’s halo ” “Yeah, he does ” said another. “And his hands are like Abigor’s ” “Is that Grimscott’s scythe? ” “That’s just like Ratherman’s pistol ” “His shirt kinda looks like Blue’s ” “It looks like something Virus would wear, too ” “Children, children ” Nekrozoa urged the best he could. “There are people that agree with you. There are others that wouldn’t. This picture has in debate for a while now.” “Well, why’s that?” one the children asked, the bottom of his face muffled by some kind of face mask. “If I go on in the legend, it says that,” Nekrozoa looked to the book again. “There shall come a day when a great evil will roam the Void. The evil shall lurk in the Void, and the People will not know of its presence. It shall lurk in the shadows and hide from the powerless while hunting the powerful. The evil shall pry open the mouth of the Void, and out of the mouth the beast shall reveal itself again to reek havoc and seek revenge on the Void and its Peoples. When this day comes, the spectres will return to their origin, and the Warrior shall return to slay the beast once and for all.” The children looked up to Nekrozoa as he finished this passage from his book. They all bore wide-eyed expressions of curiosity, for both the story and how exactly this answers their claims. “Some people in Brawl City,” Nekrozoa added. “think that those spectres are actually the Brawlers that live today. They’ve noted the same thing that all of you children have: this carving holds many similarities to today’s Brawlers. Some think that what happened was that the Warrior’s splitting parts created all of the Brawlers that we see today.” “...well, is that true?” a small girl asked, her hair a ratty mess and her long kilt a very dark purple. “Honestly,” Nekrozoa said, “No one knows for sure. It’s mostly speculation at this point. Some say there are similarities, but most people say that people just remember the Brawlers and plaster their images upon this one with that belief in mind. But, most of the people concerned with this sort of matter are the religious and some curious college students. Besides, children, the focus today is not on ideology. We may be able to discuss that another day. The focus today is on ancient literature and-” “Is that evil out there?” muttered a voice from the back. Nekrozoa’s face and actions refused to show it, but the children’s refusal to change the subject had him slightly irritated. “I beg your pardon?” “The evil in that story,” Scotty muttered again. “Is... is it out there right now?” If Nekrozoa could, this would be the point where he sighed in contempt. “In theory, yes. The story says that this evil will lay silent and hide from most people. So it could be there now, it could be there tomorrow, it may not show for another 400 years. Now, let’s stay focused, children.... well, excuse me for a moment, there’s a book I need for this segment.” The children watched quietly as Nekrozoa paced to a different room in this apartment of his. Once he was out of sight, the oldest of the children leaned in towards Scotty. “It’s good to hear you say something,” he told him in a calm whisper. “Um... well,” Scotty mumbled. “I... I guess I thought, y’know, the beast and all, would be cool to watch that fight.” “It probably would be,” the boy replied quickly. Immediately afterwards, he held out one of his severely-bandaged arms out towards Scotty. The shy Scotty lurched back a little bit initially, which made the boy and a couple of the others chuckle. Scotty stared at the arm for a moment in what appeared to be brain-dead confusion. While the large amount of bandages didn’t concern him at the moment, Scotty was more afraid of this big kid being so friendly to him all of a sudden. Scotty was balled up in a sort of sitting fetal position, but managed to loosen up enough for his hand to slowly lift towards this boy. The boy saw his chance and snatched Scotty’s nervous hand up like the last cookie of a batch. “Name’s McJunior ” the boy told Scotty in an excited whisper. He pointed to the stuffy-nosed girl, the boy with the mask, and the small girl in the purple kilt. “That’s my sis, AJ. And that’s Yacascott and his sis, Grimzuma.” Scotty managed to squeak out a tiny “Scotty” in response. After this quick exchange, they all decided to wait for Nekrozoa’s return, the longevity of which sort of had them all surprised. During this waiting period, a wheel turned in Scotty’s head. He tapped this McJunior person on his bulky shoulder. “Umm.. you guys’ names...” he whispered still shyly. “Is that... they sound like Brawler names or something?” “Yeah, they should,” McJunior responded quietly. “Our parents are big Brawler fans Get together and make bets on match some nights.” “Kinda wish my parents were Brawler fans...” Scotty muttered almost to himself. McJunior just smiled politely and nodded. ***** MadGamer looked over the theater room in front of him. The Brawler Command managed to commandeer a movie theater room and its respective projector for this task. They had to find the biggest one in the city, one that could easily comfort at least 400 individuals. Luckily, the cinema’s owner was kind enough to donate his room for them. As long as the Brawlers didn’t damage it. Which couldn’t be promised. The deal was off for a moment. Grimscott was quick on the “Can of Whoopass” button, though. And so here they were. Each seat, with a couple hundred extra, had some sort of item placed in it. A good amount of them were figurines, but there were also a larger variety of others, trophies, special discs, stones, and even some art supplies just to name a few. A door to the room busted open and John stepped into the room. “The projector is good to go ” he shouted to the MadGamer down by the screen. “Good Now we can get everyone here.” he said back as the two approached each other. As John walked down towards the theater’s screen, he surveyed the seats and all of their random assortments of items. “So, hey,” he started off. “If we could always do this, then why didn’t we with the ones on the missing list?” “Because I can’t find any of their items in storage,” MadGamer said, slightly raising his voice at the mention of it. “I’m gonna go ahead and say that’s not a coincidence.” “Speaking of which,” John started again. “Another Brawler officially hasn’t been seen for weeks now. Taryn T. Lambert. That hot little number with the spider legs.” “Well, that would explain why I didn’t find hers, either...” MadGamer muttered. “How would they even get in there?” “Maybe Balto still has a key or something?” John pondered. “Heck, it probably wouldn’t be too hard for him to just go Shade mode and slip under the doors.” “We’ll have to mess with that later,” MadGamer quickly stated. “Right now, let’s do this thing.” The MadGamer pulled a remote out of his pocket, which consisted of only an antenna and a single button. He aimed the remote at the seats in front of him and pressed the button. Instantly, the room exploded in an aurora of sights and sounds, blinding all that could see it in a grand display of colors. Each object shimmered with a light of its own, and boomed with the echo of its own voice. As the lights and sounds continued to burst through the seams, there were silhouettes beginning to appear behind each object’s light. Quickly, the silhouettes formed into a cast of some project yet to be. And immediately after that, each item produced incredibly unique life forms, each one’s eyes darting around in confusion. Just as their items were shouting of their own accord, each of the hundreds of Brawlers was shouting something of their own, all basically (or literally) yelling along the lines of “What the fuck is this???”. “Everyone!” MadGamer shouted. Nothing really changed. Everyone was still yelling. “Hey, everyone Shut up ” Still nothing. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” Again, there was no response. The door that John entered through opened once again. This time, though, McJesus and Quickfeet stepped into the loud and obnoxious room. A Brawler known as Rety; an older man sporting a suit, top hat, and cane; started to step out of the room, muttering about how “this is some bulllllllsheeeet”. McJesus passed by without acknowledging him, but Quickfeet passed by just in time to shove Rety back into his seat with a quick jet of wind. “EVERYONE LISTEN FOR JUST ONE SEC!!!” MadGamer shouted again, but still to no avail. McJesus noticed MadGamer yelling at the crowd. He held his hand up towards the ceiling, and the room rocked with five small, but still insanely-loud explosions. The room’s previous yelling was muffled by McJesus’s attack on thin air. Once they were over, the room grew silent, and everyone watched as McJesus and Quickfeet marched their way over next to MadGamer. “Thank you, my good man,” MadGamer nodded. McJesus pulled out a cigarette as a response. MadGamer scanned the crowd, the majority of the Brawlers staring at him and the others in expectance. He looked through to see if he could identify a certain couple of faces. As he figured, they weren’t there. It was worth a shot. It’s probably better if those Brawlers didn’t show, anyways. “People, just relax for a little bit ” MadGamer projected. “This won’t take very long, I swear Now, we’re bringing you all here in order to inform you all of the current situation. No doubt, that most of you have seen the news report with some of the missing Brawlers fighting an unknown fighter. Well, there was more than one incidence of that sort. Behind the scenes, the Brawlers of High Command have been fighting assailants just like him for a bit of time now.” The Brawlers in the crowd started to mutter to themselves after hearing about this. Eventually, the muttering grew to a small roar. Then a rather loud roar. MadGamer soon lost the crowd again. Quickfeet rolled his eyes as the others made gestures of frustration of their own. Soon after, he inhaled a deep breath and some of the Brawlers watched as his chest blew up like a helium balloon. “EVERYONE SHUT THE HELL UP!!!”Everyone listened. Some of the Brawlers had their fingers skewered in their ears in some sort of weird way to maybe massage their now-sore eardrums. MadGamer was even blinking in bewilderment, as was John. McJesus stood there in a solid stance, but did shake his head slightly. MadGamer continued. “Right. Now then, we do have some photos to show here... GRIMMY! FIRE UP THE PROJECTOR.” ***** Sabre sat soundless throughout the entire affair that day. His mind was somewhat wandering off on its own at this point. There was no need for him to be here, really. He recognized all the people that these Brawlers showcased and detailed, even if the pictures were actually crude sketches. Though, as he suspected would happen, the High Command Brawlers didn’t have a strategy more than “beat the tar out of them”. If they were still anything like they were before they followed him here, then that strategy wouldn’t hold for anything. He tried to humor himself on their trivial understandings of these new opponents. ***** A sketch took up the middle of the theater screen. It was a headshot of a creature that looked to be a mix of man and wolf. Next to the head shot was another sketch of a glove, fitted with a belt that had a series of orbs seemingly sewn into the belt’s hide. More muttering started after a certain number of Brawlers noticed the similarities to another Brawler. “This is the first one we’ve come across,” MadGamer began. “I personally found out about this one two weeks ago, and he was the cause of my arm injury at that time. Yes, I know he bears a resemblance to someone else we all know, and there is a reason for that, but we don’t know what. He carries essentially the same powers as Balto, but apparently stronger to an extent. He also mentioned that he was looking for Balto-Boy as well. So far, he has been able to defeat John12346 and myself, even with Quickfeet’s assistance.” MadGamer pointed up to the projector again. The screen flashed the previous sketch away. The next was another sketch. A squid-like head was propped onto a set of shoulders that bore skin as rough as tree bark. “This one we encountered the same night as the first,” MadGamer stated. “McJesus, you’ve fought this thing more than any of us. Tell them about it.” At this command, McJesus shot a sinister glare over at MadGamer. MadGamer responded with a twirling of his wrist, in a “hurry it up” motion. McJesus let out a quite noticeable sigh. “Well...” McJesus began. “I encountered this thing as we were looking for some of the Brawlers on the missing list. And I fought it again not too long ago. This is probably the biggest threat of the bunch. How it does it, I don’t know, but it appears to be fire proof, as I cannot hurt it. Its wings are sensitive though, so that should give you an edge if you encounter it. If you DO encounter it, do not go it alone. I guarantee you all that no matter what you’re capable of, you will need help to bring this monster down.” McJesus turned to MadGamer and sarcastically threw a hand at him, his own version to hurry it up. MadGamer didn’t acknowledge McJesus’s frustration and continued onward. ***** Sabre grew bored as this conference went on. None of this was new information for him, of course. He knew quite well about Southpaw and Starkly and Victor and Gloria and all of the others from his previous “adventures” before he found the Brawl City. He placed his hands behind his head and relaxed in his seat, pretending to listen but actually trying to resist yawning too loudly. Why he felt that he needed to hide his boredom, he wasn’t too sure. In an instant, he could feel an incredibly-subtle rush of wind at his feet. Sabre didn’t move from his relaxed position, however. Whichever direction that the gust was blowing, he followed it with only his eyes. No one else seemed to notice that gust as Sabre did. He looked that way, towards the side aisle of the theater, which was filled only with the shadows of the equipment above. Aside from the grimly lit red and grey that normally occupied the carpet and wall respectively, Sabre noticed a tiny sliver of color. A tiny squint of purple. Good for you to show, Southpaw... *****
The reel had finally reached its end, all that occupied the screen was a white blankness. “If you see any of these people,” MadGamer yelled to the crowd of Brawlers. “Team up however possible. If you are alone, avoid them at all costs. It is very possible that there will be more targets for them in the future. Any one of us. Some of you probably know who you are, but some of you might not. We are here to tell you about the situation for your own safety and the well-being of the city. So keep that in mind. You all can go now.” The seated Brawlers gladly obliged, shuffling out the doors immediately (or teleporting or whatever source of transport they had). There were, however, those few that decided to blast through the ceiling rather than wait for the doors to clear. MadGamer found this slightly humorous. “That manager is gonna be so pissed at us...” “So what’s the plan now?” McJesus almost snapped at him. “I figured that’s obvious,” MadGamer told him as he watched the crowd disperse. “We gotta keep looking for something that’ll help us put an end to all this crap.” Quickfeet jumped down from in front of the screen and headed towards the door. “I’m down for the last part...” ***** There, a handful of armored corpses lay sprawled on the leaf-soaked dirt, sheltered by the dark canopy above them. In the middle of them was another body: a young child with pale-white hair and clothing as simple as a red shirt and black shorts. He lay there motionless, a needle sticking out of his carotid. One of the men still standing, rifle in hand, spoke officially into a radio strapped to his collar bone. “Gamma team to base, we have one of the targets in custody. What should we do with it? Over.” A brief moment passed before the radio crackled back with words of its own. “Copy that, Gamma. We have a truck en route. Your orders are to keep the target alive and bring it to base for Chemical Extraction procedures. Over.” “Roger that. We’ll wait here for pick-up. Over and out.” In what seemed like no time at all, a pair of headlights bumped their way through a make-shift path in the area. Some of the men clicked on a set of lights on their vests and waved at the headlights ahead of them. Just inches from plowing over the first of the men to meet it, the truck stopped with a mild screech and someone stepped out of the driver’s seat. “Good to see you folks!” the driver yelped over the hum of the idle engine. Around him, the men were running back and forth at their spot to the truck, carrying with them supplies and bodies. “...what? You only get one of them?” the driver asked to the head of the team. “Well, yeah!” he replied without too much spirit to it. “That’s the only time we can get any! Cocky son of a bitch decided to rush us. Just came sprinting out of the woods!” The leader of this team looked over the driver’s shoulder and yelled to the men at the back of the truck. “Is that thing secured back there, Private?!” A man leaned out from behind the truck and gave a sort of salute. “Yes sir! Good to go!” “Alright, everyone get your asses buckled up! The others are gonna be here any moment!” A very small voice could barely be heard with the diesel engine purring away. The driver was the first to notice. Immediately, the team leader looked back to find whatever interested him. It started as a whisper, but eventually could be made out. “Shackles! SHACKLES WHERE ARE YOU?! Damn, damn, damn... SHACKLES!” Both the driver and the team leader sprinted to the truck’s lights. The engine flared in hysteria and the wheels spun back. The voice was yelling louder now. “There! Shit, go get him!” Rustling sounds grew louder and closer. Meanwhile, the headlights grew dimmer and the engine roared softer. Out of the trees, a trio of creatures emerged before anyone else: a dog-human hybrid, a bat-like man, and a young man with blades slashed through his jacket. They did not stop as they left the trees. They sprinted their way towards the fading lights that backed away frantically. Some of the creatures in the woods sprang up and flew above the shade of the trees and shot their ways towards the same fading lights the best they could. Demonic Balto-Boy and Psibat headed the pack that flew ahead, leaving some of the Brawlers to give chase on foot below them. “Mother fu-” Balto raged. “Taryn TOLD him not to sprint ahead like that!” “Don’t worry, doggy boy!” Psibat yelled over the blowing wind. “We’re gonna get him out of there!” Balto-Boy looked to Psibat as a green-lit fist shot in the other direction and brought Psibat back down into the trees. Before Balto-Boy could yell out to him, he was met with a set of claws, which he noticed out of the corner of his eye just in time to avoid a talon diving into his skull. In front of him, a giant hulk hovered and readied another attack. The beast lurched forward with a giant flap of its wings, while sounds of chaos erupted from below the trees. And the Brawlers looked on helplessly as the truck sped away. Reason for editing: kiltReason for Editing: Oh, damnit...
|
|
|
Post by John12346 on Sept 8, 2010 22:36:01 GMT -5
Balto-Boy looked to Psibat as a green-lit fist shot in the other direction and brought Psibat back down into the trees. Wat Oh never mind
|
|
|
Post by Balto-Boy on Sept 26, 2010 23:58:22 GMT -5
You shouldn't be so self-important, John. It's not healthy. For anyone. Yeah. Uh-huh... ... I'll just leave this here, then. Chapter 14: Dynasty The room was dark and deathly quiet. She looked around to find that the only source of light in the room was a set of blue numbers reading “3:13 . It was clearly not yet time to wake up. She wasn’t thirsty, either. It must’ve been, then, her great urge to pee. Sheila rolled out of bed as slowly and carefully as she could, trying her best not to wake up her husband, who was still sawing logs as hard as possible. Her eyes still heavy, she squinted down at the incredibly simple, slightly messy, and fairly grizzly and flawed man as he lulled out of reality. She couldn’t help but smile. The woman stumbled her way through the dim house, filled with a creepy silence that was only disturbed by the second hand of the clock on the kitchen wall. Her feet slapped noisily on the tile as she went into that one room to take care of her certain business. All else was still in the house. In the appropriate time, that stillness was slightly broken by the sound of rushing water. And then the sound of the slapping feet strode through once more. Sheila opened the refrigerator and reached inside to pull out some sort of fruit drink. She gargled down a swig of it and smacked her lips with a satisfied sigh. As she reached back inside to put the drink back, she heard a click. Still in that sleepy daze of hers, she almost didn’t acknowledge it. But it didn’t happen once, and just continued clicking. Sheila, eyes slightly stinging from the light of her refrigerator, looked over to where the noise originated. Behind her, she could see the doorknob jiggling back and forth. ***** The lot was always empty at this time of night. No one interested in the parking garage’s associated building would want to be here. There were a handful of cars still sulking lonesomely in various spaces, but only because their drivers were forced to do so. There were two people hiding behind a stone ledge, barely peaking over the top to see what was happening. The MadGamer had set up regular patrols once again. Naturally, it annoyed pretty much every Brawler involved because walking around streets looking for something odd doesn’t particularly strike anyone’s fancy. The late night ones were the worst. Usually, those dragged on until hours when sleep was on everyone’s mind. This night Grimscott and John had been paired with one-another. No one ever notices anything odd on these nightshifts, so those stationed to them would normally talk about whatever (except for McJesus, who wasn’t too much of a conversationalist). This night, however, something did look a little odd. As the two were just swinging around a corner, a van was stopping in front of a different building. The two ducked behind their building’s corner and peered out just enough to see the van pick up someone. Once the door opened, the interior lights of the vans turned on. And inside, the two could see at least one armored man sitting in the back. The two almost jumped giddy (Grimscott moreso) partly because they finally had a lead. Mostly because they now had something to do. The two managed to follow the vehicle from the sky, clutching on to the back of Grimscott’s magic flying turtle. It seemed its passengers left, but the two didn’t really want to take chances. “We just gonna charge in there or what?” John asked in a hushed whisper, still holding his head under the sightline of that concrete slab. “Pssh! These guys are pushovers ” Grimscott assured not too much louder. “We don’t have anything to worry about, so why the hell not?” “But they might have some of those pseudo... Brawler... whatevers with them.” “Well, if it makes you feel better, we’ll sneak around like pussies and just dart out if they see us.” “They’d chase-” “Dude, do you see how dark it is? All we need to do his hide behind a trash can and they’ll just give up and quit ” “....I can’t think of anything better.” “Great! Let’s get this horse hockey over with.” Grimscott gripped onto the concrete and hurtled over the ledge, John following right behind her. ***** He could feel something shaking his body, but Mike refused to move from his spot nestled in the bed. As he was shaken, he could hear harsh whispers commanding him to wake up, but he was too lost in his dreams to acknowledge the disturbance. However, it grew more and more violent and persistent. Eventually, he had to open his eyes to see what was keeping him from his rest. His vision was blurred, and his eyes slowly corrected themselves as he came back to the conscious realm. The first thing he saw was a woman with a star-crazed set of eyes staring at him ready to swing a frying pan. “Holy hell ” Mike jumped from his bed. Sheila spat at him to be quiet as loudly as she could. “What da hell are you doing scarin’ me like that?!?!” “Mike! Someone’s trying to break in!” Mike raised an eyebrow as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing. “What?” “Someone’s breaking in I heard them fiddling with the doorknob ” Mike’s drowsy mind struggled to realize what was actually happening. He looked towards the direction of his home’s front door, trying to make sense of the plain English his wife just told him. Slowly, then, he reached for a telephone that was resting on the counter next to the bed. He picked it up, pushed a few buttons and put it to his ear. Then he hung up without saying anything. “...what was that?!” Sheila almost hissed. “Phone’s dead.” Sheila looked around for an answer that wasn’t there. “Well, what does that mean?!” “It means that you’d betta get that stuff da Brawlers gave us.” ***** John and Grimscott could hear noises conversing in one of the rooms ahead. One sounded human enough, but the other contained bits of static and distance in it as a voice through a radio would do. They tiptoed their way along the plaster towards the room that echoed these aforementioned voices until they reached the doorway. John sprinted to the other side so that each Brawler had their own part of the doorway’s frame. John took out a microphone and placed it near the corner just in reach of their voices. Inside the room were a handful of soldiers. A couple wore the desert-style camouflage. Then there were those two that carried very light and sleek black armor and wore helmets that encased their entire heads in a red material with a visor and carried weapons familiar to the Brawlers. John and Grimscott glanced at each other after noticing them, as if they wanted to ask themselves the same question. Rather than actually say anything, they mouthed it to one another with raised eyebrows. Omni’s part of this?I guess so...They were started by a yell from the screen. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY KNOW?!” “I’m just reporting, sir,” stammered the casually-dressed man. “But it seems like the High Command informed all of the Brawlers about the Finales.” The voice on the screen sighed. “Well, what do they know then?” “I honestly don’t think they know why we’re here, sir. They were just told to keep an eye out for them. At least that’s what Southpaw said.” “How do you feel about moving Finales in the city, Carson?” the voice on the screen said. “I think you’ll be fine, sir, if you move quietly,” Carson told the screen. “Really, the only ones that seems to care are the High Command, and not even all of them do.” “Hm, good then. Discordance in the Command... we can use that. Tell the Finales, then, that the plan to capture AAJ1 should go on accordingly in the morning.” John heard a faint humming suddenly. He looked over to the origin of the noise: where Grimscott was crouched. She was glowing in a faint gold aura that was slowly growing in intensity. It was, in fact, so subtle that Grimscott had not even noticed. Either that, or she was too distracted by some of the new developments at hand. “Grimscott...” John hissed as softly as he could. “GRIMSCOTT ” Grimscott’s head swiveled towards John with a harsh look about her. John immediately pointed back at her. She looked down and saw the aura growing brighter. She proceeded to mouth some sort of profanity. “There’s another thing,” Carson said to the laptop screen. “We were patrolling the area earlier, sir. And we found someone, a member of the Kay-” Grimscott disappeared in an intense flash of light, and John shielded his eyes as a rush of wind from the small blast cut at his face. Unfortunately, when a Brawler is summoned away, it makes a very loud noise. “What the hell...” “BRAWLERS!” “FIRE! FIRE!” Bullets bounced and clanked through the doorway. John raised his hands to make a blue wall appear in front of him and made a mad dash to the other side of the doorway and ran out to the parking garage, cursing to himself from the pain he felt from the bullets (especially those from the special troops in the room). He peered back over his shoulder quickly, and the soldiers followed with guns raised, the two special troops up front. John jumped over barriers and ducked behind pillars to avoid the rounds being hurled at him. Eventually, he reached the edge of the garage, the only thing separating him from a five-story fall being thin air. Naturally, John took the jump. The soldiers met the edge of the garage just in time to see John rocket up a building aboard a pillar of blue energy. They fired off entire clips at the shooting star that was John, but by the time they could aim their rifles he was already sprinting away on the roof of a small skyscraper. ***** Grimscott arrived to her destination as she always did: delirious and unaware. In what seemed to be an instance, Grimscott vanished from the bland, small hallway to a discordant lower-middle class home that was being riddled with gunfire. She looked around as quickly as she could just to figure out where she ended up. In one corner was a woman cowering from behind the bed. By the doorway was a man with a shotgun taking cover from bullets entering the doorway. Next to her was Yacazuma, apparently waiting for the bullets to stop. Grimscott sighed heavily. “Ah, fuckberries...” “Grim,” Yacazuma yelled over the gunfire. “They’re Omni’s troops ” “OF COURSE! WHAT ELSE?! GEESH!” “I though you guys didn’t get hurt or somethin’!” Mike yelled from the doorway. “Omni’s troops got some special ammo for Brawlers ” Yacazuma yelled back. “We’d be sitting ducks if we went out there ” “Well, what the fuck do we do?!” Mike hollered back. “Wheeljack ” Grimscott yelped. Her hat’s brim lifted up slightly so a pair of eyes peaked out. From under her giant hat, Grimscott’s turtle slumped out from shelter and into the madness at hand. He plopped himself in one of Grimscott’s gloved hands and his extremities disappeared into his shell. Grimscott’s arm reeled back behind her head. With of the power her arm could muster, Grimscott heaved the shell at an angle into the doorway. Of course, they couldn’t see what was happening, but could hear it all. The shell pinged and pounded on everything in the kitchen and family room of the house. Appliances were crashing to the tile, glass from photo frames were exploding from impact, and were all accompanied by various other noises that couldn’t be specifically identified. The most identifiable noise, however, was the various screams of all of the soldiers occupying that area of the house. In a matter of seconds, the noise disappeared. Silence reigned in the house. Only the sound of crickets and those wall hangings that fell after barely clinging on to the drywall could be heard. It was around this time that Wheeljack floated back into the room, air-trotting as he happily hummed a jaunty little tune to himself. “Good boy, Wheeljack!” Grimscott praised as she patted her companion on his head. Faintly, there was a yelping coming from a ways away. If they were able to concentrate hard enough, they could make out yelp’s language. As the group in the bedroom listened hard enough, they could hear the yelp yelling for a “mommy and dad”. Mike jolted up right and yelled back for the source of the yelp, Sheila quickly following behind him. Grimscott and Yacazuma paced themselves and followed the two into the kitchen. Needless to say, the kitchen was essentially destroyed by Wheeljack’s barrage from the walls. Grimscott and Yacazuma stepped through the debris and bodies as they waited for Mike and Sheila to return. They quickly grew impatient. “Hurry up, you guys!” Yacazuma yelled back to the other room. As soon as he yelled back to them, Mike leaded himself out of the room, shotgun still in hand. Behind him was a wet-eyed Sheila cradling the weeping Scotty in her arms. She was sure to keep his face buried in her chest to hide his eyes from the result of the battle. “We’re gonna have ta move, ain’t we?” Mike asked the two Brawlers. “Yeah, right now,” Yacazuma agreed. “Omni’s gonna send more guys this way any second now. Grim Let’s go ” As Yacazuma turned towards Grimscott and was about to lead the two Civilians out, he caught her staring, emotionlessly. At least seemingly. Yacazuma followed her gaze. Over to the young child. “Grim! C’mon ” Yacazuma yelled louder. Grimscott shook her head to rip it from distraction, darting it around again as if she had no clue as to where she was at that moment. “Uhh... yeah We gotta skit We’ll take you guys to the Command building for-” Everyone was pushed back by an incredibly breath of wind. They all heard the walls of the house splinter away and could see a light that wasn’t at all bright, but still plentiful. It was a blast that felt as if it took the land under their feet and flipped them as if they lived on a coin, reeling them in a tumble that took away all of the senses, especially the sense of direction. Again, the yelp sounded for a “mommy and dad” and all was quiet once more. The Brawlers and Mike stood to their feet to look for what had happened. They stood to see the entire front of the house, furniture and interior included, decimated with nothing but charred and smoking hardwood remaining. Grimscott, Yacazuma, and Mike all readied their weapons as they stood, recognizing the figure that stood before them. “Greetings to you all...” The Omnipresence boasted proudly. He walked up slowing to the shotgun-, katana-, and scythe-wielding opponents. He looked to all of them, looking into their eyes, and spent more time with Grimscott. “It’s good to see you again, Grim,” he told her almost sweetly. “Blow it out your ass...” her near-flawless Duke Nukem impersonation spat back. Mike wasted no time and pulled the trigger on the shotgun. Pellets shot through the air and some landed square right into The Omnipresence’s cheekbone, his head slightly kicking back from the force. Without missing a beat, The Omnipresence whipped his arm towards Mike and smashed his chest with a bolt of the aforementioned purplish light. Mike’s shotgun accidentally went off in his hand before he dropped it, and the rest of him flew back towards what remained of the house and he spun backwards after his legs clipped the queen-sized bed at a rotation quick enough to smash the back of his head on one of the studs in what remained of the back wall. Grimscott and Yacazuma lunged at the man immediately after. Yacazuma was sent back slightly from another bolt, but Grimscott came close enough to swing her scythe but only for The Omnipresence to duck and weave from the slashes. Yacazuma rushed up once more to add another set of slashes for The Omnipresence to dodge. A couple of slashes clanged on The Omnipresence gothic-styled shoulder pads, and he found an opening to smash the heads of the two Brawlers into one another. In the brief second the two muttered with headaches, The Omnipresence leaped out of the way. “Men! FIRE!!!” As The Omnipresence leaped away, a line of soldiers emerged to greet the two. They raised their rifles and pointed directly at the Brawlers’ faces. Grimscott and Yacazuma raised their weapons. The bullets sprang their way, and the two spun their blades at an incredible speed in order to essentially create a wall of steel the bullets could not penetrate. Yacazuma and Grimscott both had their eyes locked on the soldiers in front of them. In their peripheral, however, they could see the figure of The Omnipresence striding casually to the area behind them. “It’s good to see you two again ” he yelled to the Brawlers as he passed. “You two look after one another, won’t ya? I’ll be right back.” Grimscott scowled viciously, though The Omnipresnece couldn’t see her. Her anger grew to a point where her judgement began to lack and all of her mental focus shifted to one solemn task. “You bastard, I’M GONNA KICK YOUR BLACK ASS!!!” She spun around to face the Brawler now behind her. But she forgot about the other fighters. Instantly, she could feel metal pellets pelting the skin of her back. She’s been shot before, always shrugging it off to continue whatever it was she was doing beforehand. But these were different. A handful of pellets rocked her and she had a strong urge to sleep. A few more, and she struggled to stand up anymore. Some more after that and she felt as if she had just ran a thousand-mile marathon, feeling the sort of exhaustion where the mind goes completely blank and the only thing keeping her awake was a whisper of her self-conscious. And soon, even that began to fade. The Omnipresence walked up to a mother bravely staring him in the face, hiding her sniveling child away from him. Behind him, The Omnipresence heard a very satisfying plop to the burned ground followed by the clang of a dropped scythe. Despite the warzone behind him, he could still hear the noise clearly enough, and it brought a grin to his face. The mother must have interpreted it as something else. “Get away from us!” Sheila shouted at the grinning villain that stepped calmly towards her. The Omnipresence stepped close enough so that he was within ear shot of the mother, trapping her against the back wall of the remaining half of the house. He leaned in close, close enough so that he could see his own reflection in her moistened eyes. “I’m just taking back what is mine,” he told her with a straight face. Where the face of a menacing Brawler once filled up Sheila’s view, it was replaced by the butt of a shotgun. Sheila looked to see her husband beating away the Brawler with the back of the gun, smashing him in the head each time the Brawler tried to retaliate. Mike smashed The Omnipresence far enough away to release a shotgun blast at him, shoving him through a section of the wall’s remnants. As Sheila started to cheer on her husband, Scotty heard the change of her voice from fear to encouragement. He took his head away from the safety of her mother and looked ahead to see his dad fighting off a legitimate, honest-to-goodness Brawler. And he cheered for him, as well. Mike ran after The Omnipresence after he had apparently left the room. As he left for that hole in the wall, that same flash of dim-colored light exploded from that hole, and Mike flew through the air six feet back and up. The shotgun fell out of his hands and it landed butt-first on the charred floor. As it hit, the short barrel exploded in light and Sheila felt something tear through her shoulder. She fell down to the ground and dropped Scotty, who was in plan view to see what would happen next. Despite the charred skin and sore body, Mike rose to his feet as The Omnipresence marched angrily at him. Mike was bent on one knee as The Omnipresence approached him. He reeled a fist back, but The Omnipresence snatched it up instantly and began crushing the bones in his hand while, with his other hand, he clutched Mike by his throat and lifted his feet above the floor. The Omnipresence looked up to his victim with the utmost contempt being worn on his sleeve. As Mike’s body dangled and squirmed in his grip, The Omnipresence’s hand glowed in that same light. “You seem to have forgotten your place, you pestilent little worm...” The Omnipresence snarled. “To think a Civilian can defeat a Brawler... you might as well start of fistfight with God.” The veins in Mike’s neck bulged and bursted with purple coloring. The color of his skin drained away. Mike could feel his eyes bulge and redden and sink towards the back of his head. He stopped trying to vainly kick The Omnipresence away, and clawed at the glowing hand that sucked away even his ability to breathe. “You Civilians must remember where you are. You are dogs, here. The only thing that keeps us all from destroying you is our patience. And you know what, mine has run out.” “LEAVE HIM ALONE.” The Omnipresence’s gaze darted away from Mike and towards the sound of that booming, scratchy voice. He looked over in time to see another blob of the very same light smash his nose inwards and launch him high into the air. Mike was released and fell to the ground, his color and all normal figures returning as he wheezed and hacked for air on his hands and knees. Then he looked over at Scotty. Mike didn’t even recognize him anymore. “YYYES!!!” The Omnipresence screamed. Mike looked to his left to see the Brawler jumping to his feet. The Omnipresence looked over to Yacazuma, who was still flinging away the bullets. The Omnipresence shot a bolt at his back and Yacazuma stumbled. With that, the same exhaustion that hit Grimscott hit Yacazuma as well. In the newfound silence that followed, The Omnipresence went about his business. “Yes! That is my boy there!” he announced as he strode towards Scotty. “Mean, strong, persistent!” The Omnipresence stode past Mike, who he blasted away with another bolt. Scotty began to scowl again. He had begun reverting to his Civilian-look earlier, but then the other take of Scotty roared up again after that blast to Mike. “I will kill you...” the demon child muttered under his breath. The Omnipresence held up his hands and waved his fingers towards himself as he strode forward. “I welcome it. Come on.” Scotty lunged at The Omnipresence’s face with a loud warcry echoing with him. However, The Omnipresence managed to catch Scotty out of the air. Immediately, he took the child and with a closed fist, quite loudly cracked his neck at an odd angle. Scotty reverted to his normal state and lay in The Omnipresence’s arms. Unconscious, but alive. He could hear the mother weeping uncontrollably over by the wall, mumbling some gibberish about some bastard taking her baby, but he refused to acknowledge her. “Men!” The Omnipresence pointed, Scotty limply slung over his arms like a freshly-killed yearling. “Let’s depart!” He and the soldiers headed out to what was once considered the house’s tiny front yard. As The Omnipresence left the hysterical mess of a woman and the sleeping fighters behind him, he heard a scowl from the ground. Near Grimscott’s slumbering body, there was a tiny shelled creature looking up at him, growling and hissing as if to warn off some large predator. The Omnipresence huffed smugly. “Yeah right, Wheeljack,” The Omnipresence muttered. The turtle found the power to lunge in the air at The Omnipresence at an incredible speed. He, however, dodge the shelled bullet just barely and the creature zinged right past his throat. The Omnipresence twitched and caught the turtle with a single grip. His body swung around and the turtle slammed against the hard floor at a force strong enough to shake the ground where the far-off soldiers walked. And with that, he continued on.
|
|
|
Post by The Omnipresence on Sept 27, 2010 11:34:48 GMT -5
You shouldn't be so self-important, John. It's not healthy. For anyone. Yeah. Uh-huh... But that's like one of his best character traits maaaaan. You imagine Omni in gothic armor? Thats pretty interestin' yo.
|
|
|
Post by John12346 on Sept 28, 2010 23:56:55 GMT -5
Hey hey, it was a reasonable guess. Spike has green hands, talons/claws, and wings, so I had reason to suspect.
Of course, once I saw the words "a giant hulk," I knew I wasn't on the money anymore.
|
|
|
Post by Balto-Boy on Oct 23, 2010 2:09:48 GMT -5
Chapter 15: The Dire Mandate The Madgamer held his face with his hand, rubbing at his eyes as he did so. From behind the limb, the Watchmen that sat near him -McJesus, Quickfeet, and John- heard him sigh quite loudly. The entire group was facing a television set that was held to the wall. It showed a view taken from the seat of a helicopter, examining a group of people that surveyed what was left of a home on the outskirts of Brawl City’s slums. The woman narrating the scene said authorities were unsure as to the culprit behind the destruction, just as the High Command instructed the news station to do. “Of all the crap we don’t need...” MadGamer said from behind his hand. “You see, guys?” John said in a matter-of-fact tone to McJesus and Quickfeet. “This is exactly why we should’ve helped them in the first place.” “Did any of you guys get a hold of the Jones family?” MadGamer asked the group. “I called them not too long ago,” McJesus told him. “They still have Grimpresence and nothing suspicious has happened yet. They also agreed to take in Mike and Sheila until they find another home.” “Ah, we can’t do that though,” MadGamer said. “If Omni found them, he’d know where to look for Grimpresence. First thing’s first, Quickfeet, you gotta get the Jones some assist items.” “Naturally...” he sighed in response. “Ah, it’ll only take you a few minutes ” MadGamer almost spat. “McJ, get a hold of Virus and see if he can get a fleet on standby. Maybe think about Zar-” “There is no way on this earth we are using Zarth for this,” McJesus hissed. “You remember what happened last time we asked for his help?” MadGamer suddenly remembered a battle in which he had buildings collapsing like trees on all sides of him. He remembered a Brawler in some insanely-overcomplicated, spiky red, black, and green armor beating away a handful of Brawlers with bursts of green big enough to engulf houses. This was a battle that kept MadGamer from brawling for a good month, and that lunatic might be running this city if Devvy hadn’t stepped in when she did. “Yeah, true,” MadGamer said regretfully. “I’m getting too desperate.” McJesus turned his head away from MadGamer and looked to the report that was still on the television. “Yeah. It’s understandable.” “This is what we get for Balto putting an adolescent in charge...” Quickfeet muttered. At about that moment, the door to the room opened up, drawing the eyes of everyone inside. Into the room stepped Swordkill. He looked to the rest of the group, initially with a blank, yet grim stare about him. As he walked into the room and the others saw his expression, they felt a dark chill, a noticeable weight pressing down on their shoulders slightly. Swordkill stayed right at the door’s entrance as it slammed behind him. They all exchanged awkward glances in a pre-eulogy styled silence. “...how are they?” Quickfeet finally asked. “Well,” Swordkill sighed to begin. “They’re gonna be alright. Yaca was let out today and should be back to normal by late tomorrow. Grim, though, got hit a lot harder than he did. She’s gonna have to stay in the hospital for the night, then she’ll be out of there.” “Did the doctor say how many?” MadGamer asked him. “Yaca was hit 16 times,” Swordkill explained. “Grimscott was hit 35.” Anti-Brawler rounds were a living nightmare for many of the Brawlers. They could shrug off a handful of shots, but after so many and even the biggest and baddest Brawler could be reduced to a crawling and pathetic state. All but the newest of Brwalers have been hit with these before as they fought in the War with The Omnipresence so long ago. Many have suspected that being hit with enough could kill a Brawler, but there have been accounts of still-living Brawlers taking more than 100 hits in the most extreme of battles. The worst part of this was that only the Omnipresence had any idea how the hell to make them, so no one knew how to form a proper defense. Whatever it is dissolves away once it hits flesh. “Good,” MadGamer finally said. “Once Grim gets out, you, her, and Quickfeet are gonna have to sentry for Omni’s ships.” “Why the hell am I doing everything???” Quickfeet asked in a fit of sarcastic pleasantness. “Because,” MadGamer huffed, his back to Quickfeet. “We need as many Watchmen in the air as we can, and you three are the only ones with the ability to fly.” “There’s something else,” Swordkill spoke up. Again, all of the eyes in the room were fixed on him. “When I was down there...” Swordkill started. “Umm... well, MVG, there’s someone down there that wants to see you.” ***** The air was noisy around them, but at the same time still very still. Mike looked on to the men stifling through the remains, Sheila clutching on to his arm like a familiar toy bear, staring on with him. Both were too speechless by the past events to even speak to one another. Each one was going through processes in their own minds, racking over what just happened to them the night before today. Talking to each other probably wouldn’t have covered too much ground, however. They were both generally thinking about the same thing. Mike snapped out of his stupor as a fat finger tapped at his shoulder. He turned around to see some sort of police officer in a uniform he didn’t recognize. “How are you two holding up?” the officer asked them sympathetically. Mike’s voice was very humble and quiet. “Um, we’re doing okay. I guess. Right, babe?” Sheila’s voice was even moreso, and her eyes were reddened and her cheeks blushed. “Yeah, yeah... we’re fine.” The officer nodded solemnly at the two. “Are you two able to find a place to stay for the moment? If not, we can find a place for you at the station if you really need it.” “Oh, that’s alright,” Sheila said with a forced smile. “Um... my mom will take us in for now.” The officer, in kind words, was quick then to depart with the couple. He said a polite goodbye to the two of them, and turned around towards the giant, encompassing crowd of people watching the investigation in the flattened house. Mike stopped the man before he got too far. “Hey, officer,” he spoke up. “Are you guys... are they goin’...” “High Command told me that they will do what they can,” the officer replied. “They’re very aware of the situation.” Mike, not too satisfied with the answer, smiled faintly anyways. He and Sheila turned back around to capture one last glimpse at the foundation. As the thoughts associated with their memory of the home came flooding back with the sight of it, the faint smile slowly disappeared. “Well... it ain’t doin’ any good to stay,” Mike said to break the silence. “Maybe we should be leaving these guys to their job.” Sheila could be clearly heard choking back a sob. “Yeah... yeah, let’s go.” The two headed towards the aforementioned circle of people muttering to themselves. They sauntered their way towards the inner lining of the ring, the people paying slightly more attention to them as they came closer. The two came to the edge of the circle, staying in silence amongst themselves, and asked the people to excuse them. They butted their way through the crowd and headed towards the nearest bus stop, Sheila clutch to that arm the entire way. ***** On the opposite area of the circle, Sabre watched as the married couple that once lived in this house pushed their way through the crowd. With the minor distraction out of sight, he brought his sight back to the foundation of the home. He never saw anything special in this incident, really. Back in Brawl City, the battles would level small buildings almost all of the time. It happened so often, that construction work has become one of the highest paying fields on the entire planet. But this is clearly different from the city. After all, an entire neighborhood was crowded around to view the damage, something never done in the city. Sabre’s curiosity was naturally peaked as this thought process arose, and decided to have a look. He eventually decided to push through the crowd up towards the front. Most people didn’t see him bust through, but a handful recognized him and let him through. Sabre was curious as to what the rank of Brawler would do for him on a crime scene. Eventually, he reached the inside of the scene when a large officer stopped him. “Whoa, buddy ” he said. “What are you doin’?” “I was just wondering if I could have a look,” Sabre said calmly. “Look at it from a Brawler’s perspective.” “I know who you are, Sabre,” the officer responded. “And you’re not getting in here, I’m sorry.” “...what’s stopping me?” he asked. “Is that a threat?” the officer glared back. “You DO know what the penalty is for wrongfully attacking a Civilian, right?” The section of the crowd in earshot of the conversation silenced for a moment. Sabre and the officer glared at each others eyes for a moment (or as best as they could do with the abundance of hair slithering down Sabre’s face). “Fine,” Sabre finally said. “Can you at least tell me what happened?” “You’ll have to watch the news for that, I’m not releasing any information here.” Sabre simply walked back the other way through the crowd after that. Nothing really told him so, but Sabre was sure that the officer was hiding something from him. Perhaps it was the environment that made him feel that way, he didn’t know. Either way, he was suspicious. And, of course, all suspicions lead back to The Factory. In a moment of speaking of the devil, Sabre felt something tug at the bottom of his jeans. His head nodded down just in time to see a pair of purple eyes looking back at him from the black mass of his shadow. In his view, Sabre watched as a dark mass slid out of the shadow and inbetween all of the people in the crowd. Naturally, Sabre followed. The form crawled several blocks away from the crowd towards the back of a house up for sale down the road. Sabre reached the area just shortly after that form crawled back there as well. He paced up towards the spot where the mass stopped, and then saw it again. The purple eyes looked up to him. Eventually, the mass grew quickly into the form of a sentient body of dark flames with purple eyes. Sabre tightened the muscles in his arm that flicked out his blades. The mass flashed in green briefly and a furry figure stood before him. “It’s been a while, Sabre,” Southpaw said. Sabre readied the blades more. “Yes it has, Southpaw.” “So, uh... How’d you like the damage back there?” Southpaw asked, his thumb pointed towards the scene. Sabre looked back from where he came, then back to Southpaw. “Did you do that?” “Not me. It was one of us, though. Anyways, how’s it goin’ buddy It’s been too long...” Buddy... Sabre thought to himself. Always a joke with him. “It’s been going well. I’ve enjoyed myself.” “Sure you have... well, I just stopped in to say hello. Wanted to catch up with an old friend.” “When have we been friends?” Southpaw reached over and hugged Sabre’s shoulders with a single arm. “Haaa! This guy! Oh, you’ve always been the funny one, Sabre!” After uncomfortably shaking Sabre’s head around for a moment, Southpaw released his grip on him and stood there. “Well, I gotta scoot. I’m on the clock, y’know. You keep doin’ your thing here. I’ll tell the old gang that you said hello.” Sabre had no comeback ready. He simply nodded. “Sure. You do that.” Southpaw’s body flashed in red and he turned into a form with bat wings and thorns sprouting from his arms. At first, the figure darted close towards the ground by his wings. After a decent distance, however, he lifted up into the air and darted away. Sabre’s gaze didn’t leave the part where Southpaw darted away, frankly too confused to do so. He really had no clue what to make of this meaningless meeting of theirs. There had always been a reason behind the visits from these types of people. Senseless, he continued to stand there and stare for a handful more seconds. “I guess he never was too bright,” he finally said. And with that, he was back off into the city. ***** The MadGamer walked up to the main entrance to the door of the 2nd West Quadrant Hospital of Brawl City, where Grimscott was being kept. Heeding the advice of Swordkill, MadGamer decided to stop by to see what had worked him up. The building was a fairly large complex. It was about six blocks wide, taking up the edges of two distant streets, and was just as tall. Windows were taking up the opposite wings of the building, through which a plethora of patients could be seen peering out or eating less-than-glorious foodstuffs. Down at the front of the building were a line of doors of the manual, automatic, and revolving variety, all arranged in an orderly pattern to make their presence slightly more appealing to the eye. Above the canopy that sheltered those doors from the sunlight were layers and layers of limestone raising to the flat top of the roof. Near the top of the building was a large sign proclaiming the hospital’s official and rather bland name in a font that didn’t display too much creative thought. Into this building, MadGamer entered. As soon as the door he entered stopped its spin long enough for the MadGamer to enter, he approached the front desk of the lobby as he dodged the handful of wheelchairs and visitors that clamored towards the marble hallways which led to elevators that took people to the floors that housed their loved ones. The clerk at the desk recognized the MadGamer right away. She negated from her clearly-bored posture and gaze and perked into something presentable with a cheesy smile. “It’s good to have you here, Mr. Gamer ” she said in a fake excitement that was required of her job here. “I take it you’re here to visit Watchman Grimscott?” “Actually,” MadGamer began as he walked towards the clerk. “I was told that someone else was here and wanted to see me.” The clerk at first cocked her head very slightly in confusion, looking at the MadGamer as if he were an animal she had never seen before. A moment later, though, her spine shot up straight and she took a large breath in as a sign of remembrance. “Oh yes!” she said in what was now legitimate excitement. “Yes, there’s someone that was asking for you in...” she took this moment to trace her finger over an apparent list on her computer. “...in room 506! We would’ve called you earlier, but they wanted to send someone in person instead. One of the Watchmen came in earlier but-” “Yeah,” the MadGamer interrupted impatiently. “I know about that. Thank you ” The MadGamer spun around the round reception desk housing the girl and strolled to the elevators. Before, after, and during the trip on the elevator -but before reaching room 506- he bounced thoughts around in his head, questioning the method of bringing him to the hospital via Swordkill’s words. He stepped out of the elevator and strolled on down sterile hallways. Those who recognized him stared at him, surprised to see the Brawlers’ Ruler and Commander appear in person. Those who didn’t recognize him stared at him because of the freakish appendage that replaced his arm, the gun that was decorated with battle scars and flailing wires. The MadGamer didn’t pay any mind to them, but rather glared at the walls in search of that certain number. And there it was, six rooms down the floor’s crowded hallway. Inside, he saw a husk of a human being lying on the hospital bed. His skin was thin and pale, bulging from the bones that lied underneath it. The joints in him were so plumped by the lack of flesh around them that it resembled the atrophied body of a 90-year-old woman. Acres of wires coiled around the bed, sprouting from a pair of machines that sat next to his bed and latched themselves to seemingly arbitrary spots of his body. Needles were sticking into his arms, monitors were strapped under his slowly-heaving shirt, gadgets were clutching onto his wheezy mouth, and machines beeped and hissed in effort to try to keep him from seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Working past this sight alone, MadGamer looked up to the person’s face. It, too, had withered away. Cheeks were sunken deep within his own face to show endless valleys tangling across it. His eyes had fallen deep into bold shadows, looking as if they were almost trying to avoid the light of day. Above the valleys that composed his forehead, his hair had lost all signs of life to it, and had become a deathly shade of pure white and thinned to the thickness of tracing paper. The figure would have been completely unrecognizable, had those sunken eyes not opened to the sound of the MadGamer entering to drift towards him. Despite the rapid aging apparent all over his body, his grey irises remained the same. “Shackles...” the MadGamer whispered in absolute horror. “Wha... what is this???” Shackles only wheezed in response, his eyes turning away so he could return to sleep. As this happened, the MadGamer heard the room’s door close loudly behind him. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Balto-Boy said to him. MadGamer, though surprised by Balto-Boy’s presence, spun around angrily. “Balto, what in the hell happened to him? ” his voice still shaky from the sight itself. “He looks like he should be dead ” “He should be, really,” Balto-Boy answered soft and coldly. “What happened, you don’t really need to know. I wan-” “No, bullshit...” MadGamer hissed in a quaking voice. “I want you to tell me how this happened...” “Drop it. He needs your help, and that-” Gasps could be heard from the other side of the doorway as the MadGamer dashed at Balto-Boy and pinned him to the wall of the room, shaking all of its contents. “You tell me...” the MadGamer snarled from behind gritted teeth. “You tell me just what the fuck is going on. Right now.” Balto-Boy showed no reaction to the gun that was pressed down on his throat to pin him to the wall. He simply stared back down to the MadGamer in a vacant expression. “Fine...” he eventually said. “Put me down, first.” The MadGamer quickly obliged, a look of intensity still about him. Balto-Boy massaged his throat for a moment, but was quick to answer. “The Fa...” Balto-Boy began. “...the people after us. We’ve got something that they want. Whenever they get a hold of one of us, they want to get it however they can.” MadGamer painfully looked back over to Shackles, then looked back to Balto-Boy. “And it’s inside of you.” “They caught Shackles a few days ago,” Balto-Boy continued. “We caught them just at the end of a draining session a few hours back.” MadGamer couldn’t help but bring his blue and orange gaze back to Shackles, who now slept contently as all of the conversation took place. “Good lord...” he muttered. “I called you here because we needed to let you know that he needs protection. We think we know how to fix him, but it will take some time.” MadGamer figured already that Balto-Boy was paranoid about the High Command’s phoneline being tapped by this group, hence why he sent Swordkill. One question still irked him. “You couldn’t just tell that to Swordkill?” “...there’s something else we have to tell you,” Balto-Boy said solemnly. “We’re pretty sure that they’re going to come after you, too.” MadGamer glared at Balto-Boy. “What do you mean? Why?” “Whether you remember or not, you are a part of this too. We’ve seen and fought your Finale. He’s a bigger pain in the ass than Gertrude’s. I needed to warn you.” MadGamer stayed silent for a moment, looking away from Balto-Boy for a moment to contemplate his options. He had a few ideas, but he figured that this conversation was leading somewhere. “What do you suggest, then?” “The best idea,” Balto-Boy began. “I would say you should give someone else the R and C spot and come with us.” MadGamer’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you talking about, I have to get everyone through this We’ve already found out that Omni’s is a part of this too and I need to support the Watchmen ” “...what?” “Look, why can’t you just have us and the other Brawlers back you up? We’d have these guys out of the city before you can even blink and you’re going to need it with Omni helping them ” “NO.” Balto-Boy stated firmly. “Well why the hell not?!” Balto-Boy struggled to find an answer to this question, waving his head around as he spat out noises in vain attempts to compile an answer. “Just... no. I... I can’t have anyone killed because of us. You’ve seen what they can do.” MadGamer turned his head to glance at the pathetic husk of Shackles that remained, breathing peacefully in a deep sleep. This only flared him up more. “Guh... Grah! You’re pissing me off, man!” MadGamer almost screamed. “Let us help you before this shit happens again!” “I’ve stuck around for way too long as it is,” Balto-Boy stated. “What is your answer? Are you gonna come with us or not?” “Of course not!” MadGamer said back. Balto-Boy’s face dropped towards the floor. He let out a sigh that show a mix of frustration and what seemed to be pity. He lifted his shaking head back up. “Alright. I’ll see you then.” Balto-Boy opened the door the room to leave the hospital. Before he could take a single step, an orange glow opened wide beneath his feet. Balto-Boy’s eyes darted down in a startle and immediately knew where it came from. Before he could react, however, the glow showed an image of the hospital room from another angle. A hand reached through and grabbed Balto-Boy by the leg of his jeans. His entire body slid through the portal, and he was spat out into the MadGamer’s view. An angry Gamer, after flailing Balto-Boy from his grip into the air, sprinted at him so that Balto-Boy’s frame hit the floor. The MadGamer took Balto-Boy’s glove arm and pinned it behind his back as his body pressed the dog-wolf-man thing to the dirty floor. The commotion had people outside of the room screaming and mumbling in confusion, though they were essentially ignored. “You know,” MadGamer snarled to begin. “With the recent events of Omni showing up, I think I can issue a Dire Mandate. You remember what that is, right.” Balto-Boy repositioned his face so that his mouth could move properly. “‘Dire Mandate is meant to prevent any potential tragedies from befalling Brawlerkind and the city they inhabit,’” he quoted. “‘Any Brawler that is found to be a significant contributor to this potential threat is to be Ostracized should they refuse to reveal themselves and assist against the potential threat.’” “How about it, Balto?” MadGamer asked. “Are you gonna fess up, or do you REALLY want to live with Zarth on an island for the rest of your life?” Balto-Boy sarcastically rolled his eyes towards his forehead. “Hmmm... hey, I’ve got an idea. Now, just follow me on this one...” A bright blast of green exploded from Balto-Boy’s glove. MadGamer’s grip was forced from Balto-Boy’s arm as he shot back and up into the tiles of the ceiling, sending specks of them crumbling to the floor. Balto-Boy stood steadily and patiently to face MadGamer. Keeping his eyes on the MadGamer, Balto-Boy lifted his glove towards the window behind himself. Another blast of green erupted and the window shattered into pieces noisily. MadGamer stood and began to charge at Balto-Boy, a drill ready in hand. But Balto-Boy being the faster runner, sprang towards the window and dived through the window frame headfirst. As MadGamer reached what remained of the window, Balto-Boy shot into the sky not six inches from him, bearing thorns on his arms and large bat-like wings. MadGamer jumped back as the wind rushed past him, but gazed out to the horizon as Balto-Boy flew off to fade into an silhouette like that of a seagull in the distance.
|
|
|
Post by Balto-Boy on Dec 18, 2010 3:49:16 GMT -5
Chapter 16: And So It Begins Scotty awoke from a sleep very calmly. His mind, at first, did not push to start right away as he knew what would happen this morning: he would get out of bed, eat breakfast with his parents, and then head off to school. The usual. As Scotty stayed in a trance, his head wobbled around. He soaked in the sharp corners of the room, the elegantly-colored carpets and walls, the shining instruments that decorated the empty space... his brain jolted and Scotty jumped up what seemed like ten feet into the air. The first that came to Scotty’s mind immediately was sheer hysteria, like a stray dog that suddenly finds itself in a cage. His heart began to race, his breath was heavy and very fast, his hands and limbs scrambled all around this weird mattress under him as if he were subconsciously looking for an exit. He looked around only to be more disturbed by the unfamiliar surroundings: the clean walls, the uncluttered floor, the overly-elaborate bed with just as elaborate pillows and blankets, the paintings of landscapes and glorified conquistadores that decorated the walls along with the expensive-looking dressers and even a large toy chest brimming past the fill limit with all sorts of plastic trinkets. In due time, as the environment sunk in, Scotty’s hysteria calmed to a cat-like curiosity. Being the age that he was, Scotty was drawn fairly strongly to the toy box against the wall of the room. He scanned the plastic figurines and boxes of construction bricks, then dug for the depths of the box to see what else it held. In this venture, he pulled out figures and gadgets that had him in a slight awe, his mind rolling in imagination brought forth by the potential these new things brought. As he mentally explored what these little men could be, he could hear (but didn’t really acknowledge) the zip of a door sliding open behind him. Scotty’s concentration broke when he heard the familiar figure chuckling. “Should’ve know you’d head there first,” the figure said warmly behind him. Scotty could hear him pacing up from behind. “Glad to see you awake. Now, I can talk to you about something very important.” Scotty felt a hand land down on his shoulder. As soon as he felt that unnerving thing, Scotty shoved the man’s arm away and sprinted for the open door as fast as he could. Behind him, the Omnipresence stood. He let out a sigh, and calmly strode on after him. Scotty ran into another room, paying no attention to elaborate decorations of its walls. Still sprinting, Scotty looked behind him to see where the stranger was, only to see that the man was still confidently heading his way. Though, Scotty lost his sense of direction in doing so, and smashed his face against the wall. He was surprised that it didn’t hurt as badly as he thought it would. Sitting down and rubbing his sore face, he looked up to see that the wall he smashed into was actually a gigantic window. Scotty stood and looked out to be flabbergasted by the scenic view of all of Brawl City from 10,000 feet in the air, everything from the towering pillars of limestone to the 20-block city parks to the dirtiest of city slums and all in between. “It’s beautiful... in its own way, isn’t it?” the Omnipresence asked as he walked up to Scotty. He placed a hand gently on Scotty’s shoulder, a feeling that still made him feel incredibly nervous. “Are you ready to talk, yet?” the Omnipresence asked him in almost a sweet tone. Scotty looked up to the black-skinned man now dressed in a comfortable, fancy robe, and back to the grand view of the city. Clearly, Scotty wasn’t really going anywhere. Might as well play along. “Ummmm... sure... I guess...” Scotty finally stammered. “Excellent,” the Omnipresence said. “How about something to drink? What do you like?” “Well... I’m not all that thirsty, really.” “You sure?” “...uh-huh.” “Alright, then.” The Omnipresence looked up towards the ceiling and barked a command. “One 8 ounce scotch and ginger ale on the rocks!” Only a couple of seconds after the statement, a robot of some sort wheeling into the room from another door, carrying a platter with utmost precision as it did so. It rolled up to the other side of the Omnipresence and used an arm to lift the drink from the platter to the Omnipresence’s hand. Scotty’s eyes stayed on the robot the entire process all the way to its exit, his nervousness slightly relieved by the newfound amazement. The Omnipresence noticed this, and it amused him. “You’re enjoying your new home, I take it?” he asked Scotty. Scotty’s amazement vanished. “Nuh-new home???” “Why, yes ” the Omnipresence reassured. “Did you think this was a resort home or something? No, we’re in my luxury cruiser that constantly flies a course around the city, hidden by the best cloaking tech OMNI Corp. can produce. It’s been my home for years, and now it’s yours too.” “But... but I live in the-” “Ah, not anymore,” the Omnipresence stated, his tone becoming slightly colder. “My boy, this was meant to be your home all along.” “...what do you mean?” The Omnipresence let out a heavy sigh, then looked back down to the boy. “You were supposed to live here. With me. Up until those bast... those people at the High Command took you away.” Scotty was only getting more and more nervous. “...wha... I don’t get it. What do you mean?” “I supposed they wouldn’t have told you...” the Omnipresence muttered. “Those people, Mike and Sheila, th-” “Dad and Mom???” Scotty interrupted, suddenly interested. “That degenerate and that harlot are NOT your parents!” the Omnipresence snapped. “They’ve been lying to you for all your life!” “N...no, they woul-” “It’s not all them,” the Omnipresence continued, looking out over the city. “The Watchmen want to take my children away from me... immediately, they think the worst of me. Just can’t fathom that maybe I just want to father my children...” Scotty was also growing more annoyed. “What the heck are you talking about?” The Omnipresence let out another sigh of frustration. He knelt down so that both he and Scotty would be at eye-level. Scotty would normally classify this as uncomfortable, but was too pestered by the stranger’s rambling to really care. “You are my child, Omniscott,” the Omnipresence finally said. “You are of my seed, boy.” “No I’m not...” Scotty almost snarled. “Mike Cabbose is my dad.” The Omnipresence’s head sank as he sighed. “I knew that this would be difficult. It’s alright, though,” he said with his head drooped. “You’ll learn in time. And once you realize, we can both take revenge on this city. Father and son...” Scotty could feel himself begin to quake. His fingers clenched into a fist so hard that his nails began to dig into his skin. “You... are not... my dad!” Scotty’s transformation bore its head once more: the black skin, the slithering hair, the yellow teeth, the white of his eyes turning crimson red... Without thinking, Scotty threw a fist at the horrid man next to him, coating it in a purple flame. With some unnatural quickness, the Omnipresence used his free hand to catch the fist at him while a malformed Scotty glared and snarled from behind it. While Scotty wore his rage on his sleeve, the Omnipresence grinned smugly. “Look at you... you’re growing up so fast...” “YOU SHUT YOUR STUPID MOUTH!” “And to think of all of the years I’ve missed. Well, I can make up for it now.” “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” “Take a look, Omniscott, at who you are becoming...” The Omnipresence swirled the glass he had in his other hand into Scotty’s line of sight. With a brown tint of the liquid, the entire room was reflected in the artistically-crafted cylinder. Scotty’s view of the man he has now altered, a younger and enraged version staring back at him. But this new version of the man did everything as Scotty did, he snarled at the same times, his eyes moved with his at the same time, everything was mimicked with utmost precision. The gears began to turn. The gritted teeth of Scotty wore away very gradually to a gaping jaw as the realization slowly grabbed hold of him. Scotty’s fist loosened and his arm dangled to the floor. Now he stared at this reflection skewered by the glass’ design, gawking at it with astonishment. Still staring, his transformation faded, and Scotty reverted to his normal state. However, his glance stayed unyielding. “It’s strange, I know,” the Omnipresence agreed. “I had trouble accepting it myself when it happened to me. At least now, you’re at the point when you’re conscious during these moments...” Scotty began to shiver violently, breathing heavily. “W-w-what’s happening to me?” “Ah, I’ve never really found out myself,” said the Omnipresence. “But that face you saw in the glass just now. In time, that will be you for the rest of your life. And with that, you’re going to become one of the greatest Brawlers of all time.” Scotty’s body straightened and his ears perked up at the mention of a particular phrase. With hopeful, yet skeptical eyes, Scotty asked for some confirmation. “...what did you say I’d be???” The Omnipresence smiled. “My son... you’re the son of Brawlers. Which makes you one yourself.” Scotty’s eyes widened and a dumb smile widened on his face. He held his hands out in front of himself and flexed his fingers, that dumb-looking smile turning into a cocky smirk. “Heh... cool!” The Omnipresence put his hand back on Scotty’s shoulder and turned back to the window. “Indeed. Tell me, how would you like to accompany me on a trip? Maybe we can find your sister, while we’re at it.” ***** The children were done with the lessons for the day. Nekrozoa had just spent the last couple of hours discussing advance Brawling techniques to the children, a task he did so often. At this point, there was no more on Nekrozoa’s agenda, so it was only a matter of waiting for the children’s parents to accompany them home. There were a handful of games and the like to occupy them during this time, but some preferred to test their still developing powers as Nekrozoa read some material by himself. Yacascott and Grimzuma were practicing some of the new moves Nekrozoa taught them, while A.J. stood there laughing at them both. Meanwhile, McJunior was in another area of the room having a conversation with the irregularly-visiting Pencil Boy. Unable to come to some sort of conclusion, the two walked up to Nekrozoa. “Excuse me, Mr. Nekrozoa,” McJunior tapped his shoulder. Nekrozoa dully turned his head to face him. “Hey, uh,” McJunior continued. “Pencil Boy and I were talking over there ‘bout something, and we kinda need to know about it.” “Well, what is it, then?” Nekrozoa asked them both. “Welp,” Pencil Boy began. “We were both thinking that, y’know, Omniscott or whatever hasn’t-” “He’s sick today,” Nekrozoa interrupted, quickly returning to the large text in front of him. This action did leave the two boys startled for a moment. Not particularly because it confused them, but only reassured their fears. They persisted. “But he hasn’t been hear for a week,” McJunior pressed. “I mean...” “He has a severe case of Void Sickness.” McJunior and Pencil Boy looked to each other again. “But,” McJunior questioned. “Void Sickness is a Brawler disease. Everyone knows tha-” “Rest assured, Michael and Sheila have him convinced that it is a case of influenza. Now please, children...” “Alright, then,” Pencil Boy blurted in a somewhat-irritated tone. “We’ll leave you to it, then.” The two boys walked away, back past the other three children and to their previous section of the apartment. The two loitered in that spot for a brief moment. “Eh, what do you think?” Pencil Boy asked McJunior in a mutter. “Not sure,” McJunior muttered back, looking over his shoulder to see if Nekrozoa was listening. He wasn’t. “He sounds like a robot all the time, so I can’t really tell. Seems like something’s up. Nekrozoa’s never been all the great of a liar...” “No kiddin’,” Pencil Boy agreed. “That’d have to be a bad flu to compete with Void Sickness!” “Yeah, can’t really fit festering boils and spasms with the flu, can you...?” “You’re thinking Omnipresence got him, ain’t ya?” “Yeah... yeah, kinda.” “Heh. Me too.” “You think the Command Brawlers are gonna go after him?” “If they can find him! That guy’s slicker than a fish drenched in vaseline!” “Well, we gotta get him outta there somehow...” McJunior muttered partially to himself. Pencil Boy agreed and pondered the thought, widely unaware of any of the Omnipresence’s background. “Hmph. Well, I could get my dad to let me in the Command,” McJunior said. “They’d surely have the whereabouts of Scotty’s sister in there somewhere. “Are you joking?” Pencil Boy said. “That’s the first place that’ll be guarded from him!” “Yeah, but I’ve got some McJesus in me... if they use some kind of DNA thing to watch over that stuff, maybe I could slip by. Plus, I could just snag a hair out of my dad’s head or something.” “I dunno, man... that sounds reallllly shakey.” “I can’t think of anything better...” McJunior shrugged. “How about this then? I can use this big ‘ol pencil here to draw a robot spy or something, and have it sneak in behind a Watchman and find out that way!” “....and how is that better than my idea?” “Hey, I still don’t know everything about this pencil, and I might be able to make some-” “Don’t even think about it.” Nekrozoa interrupted again. Pencil Boy and McJunior both turned around to see Nekrozoa’s blank face looming over them. The two boys looked around fairly nervously. “Just leave it to the High Command. They have it under control,” Nekrozoa told them. “Uh.... yeah,” stammered a nervous McJunior. “Sure. Whatever you say.” Nekrozoa looked to both McJunior and Pencil Boy, following up with a nod of approval. He walked back to his chair and continued to read, now gathering the interest of the other three children. The two groups, now aware of each other for the first time in a while, began to converge on one another. “What was all that about?” A.J. pretty much demanded. Just as Pencil Boy opened his mouth to say, a piece of something smashed its way through the apartment building, and rocketed just over the heads of the children. Everyone except Nekrozoa jumped at the sudden noise, but everyone immediately looked to the source out of the newly-created window in the apartment. Out not too far from where they stood, they could easily see a building with a chunk blown out of it, a group of fighters swarming around it. ***** Sabre hunched over the table in the restaurant, patiently snacking on a hamburger and some fries. He managed to tune out the noisiness of the conversations around him, but his concentration would occasionally be broken by a periodical outcry of the same obese toddler in the corner. Pretty much everyone, at this point, has known of Sabre for long enough to know that he isn’t one to be bothered for autographs and the like. For this, Sabre was thankful. Now he could think to himself without people harassing him like they did when he was new. The Brawling world was now abuzz with gossip and suspicions. Ever since the Dire Mandate has been issued by the MadGamer, rumors have flown all across the sub-culture. This was only fueled by the duty Brawlers had after the issue was made. After all, Dire Mandate was essentially a declaration of war. And that included a draft. This fight proved to be difficult once one considered the fact that they couldn’t actually find the enemy. What the MadGamer proposed, then, would be to attack “the enemy” whenever they slipped up or else they faced exile. The Omnipresence has recently been added to this list, as well. Sabre was curious as to what Reponza was planning with that team-up. He had a pretty good idea, but didn’t want to conclude anything hastily. His meal finished, Sabre wadded all of his trash into a tight ball, pushed it down the trash can, and walked out of the door. Some one told him something like “Have a nice day!”, but Sabre ignored them as he tucked his hands in his hoodie pocket and sleuthed away. A block or two into the travel to wherever, he looked up and noted how it was starting to get dark; nothing significant, but he could see the sky beginning to shift to a late orange. Regardless, with nowhere inparticular to be, Sabre walked onward. As he walked, he saw a motion out of the corner of his eye. He followed it, turning his head, and saw a typical Civilian man dashing towards some destination out of sight. Sabre couldn’t help but mentally note how foolish he looked. He turned his head back and continued on when he saw another motion. Some one else on the other side of him started running as well. Then another person. And another. Eventually, there was a small crowd of people beckoning to some call that Sabre couldn’t really distinguish, as he was typically in his own world. The sudden turn of events, though, brought him to reality. Curiosity getting the better of him, he followed the mob. The path Sabre took twisted him through allies and across streets that had horns blared by drivers irritated by the sudden roadblocks. As Sabre continued, the number of people around him grew and grew until the size seemed unmanageable, the only thing he could hear being the clashing stammers and gibberish that wove together to create a giant blanket of noise. Sabre eventually squeezed his way through an alley, much to the disdain of equally hurried people in his path, when the gathering came to a stop. Here, a giant crowd of people surrounded a pair of buildings that stood up high proudly with a decent amount of stories. Sabre looked over the heads of the people in the stadium-sized crowd to see what garnered all of their respective attentions. He saw nothing. Rather than look around the people, then, Sabre looked at them to see that they were all looking in the same direction: up. Now things were interesting. Though he could only see the tops of the figures from his angle of view, he could tell who they were. Sabre could clearly make out several of the missing Brawlers on one side of the building, gathered together on the roof to seemingly glare down those on the other side; he could even see the Brawler known as Psibat floating above all of the others. On the roof of the other building, the one that sat not even twenty feet from the other, Sabre made out the familiar figures of the Finales. At the very least, most of the ones of which the Brawlers were warned stood together to glare just as the missing Brawlers did. Sabre could swear that he could also see some Finales that the none of them knew about earlier. Though Sabre could decipher the figures up on their perches, he could certainly not tell what they were doing. It somewhat looked like one side was conversing with the other, but Sabre had no honest clue as to what was happening. He needed a closer look. Without essentially any warning, Sabre leapt up six feet to plant a foot on the head of a Civilian (the people in that little area were startled and yelled angrily, but Sabre paid no attention to it) and used that as leverage to spring up to the wall of a nearby tower. As he flew in the air, his blades shot from his forearms and Sabre placed them so they would stab into the limestone wall. Now hanging above the crowd of people (some of which now taking notice to him), Sabre took one arm at a time and slammed the blades into the wall, a little farther up each time. Though it took a few minutes, and the activity resulted in sore and incredibly-bruised arms, Sabre made his way to the top of this tower. Now he could see the Brawlers clearly, at eye-level if he wanted, but still had no clue as to what they were doing. Sabre looked ahead and noticed some room for him to make a running start, and he was only a couple of buildings away from the conversation ahead. He worked his way up to a sprint and pressed forward. One jump later, and Sabre was at the next tower’s roof. He continued the sprint, heading towards the next building, and jumped again. Though he took a stumble, for he landed on a slope, Sabre managed to stick the landing and continue the sprint to make it across the last gap to the building closest to the Brawlers and the Finales. Sabre continued and jumped with no difficulty. As he was hurdling through the air, Sabre managed to glimpse over at the conversing parties. The dog-wolf-man thing and the thing with the apple for a head were pushed aside rudely so another figure could dash inbetween them. This figure sprinted away and jumped off of the building, staying concentrated on his landing point. It took a split second for Sabre to realize, the figure’s eyes being obscured by his hair, but he managed to figure out where the figure was headed: towards him. Just as Sabre landed (not even two feet afterwards), the figure landed on the exact same building. That figure continued sprinting at Sabre. Sabre raised his arms to stop the young figure, but he was not quick enough. The sprinting figure pounced with lightning speed and smashed Sabre’s back into the flat area of the roof. Sabre gained a good look within no time. The figure was young, most likely still an adolescent. He wore a leather jacket, had pale-grey skin, and shielded his eyes away with a mat of greasy black hair. Most notably, though, were the growths out of his forearms (Sabre noted how they somewhat resembled bones) that were carved in the shape of large, rectangular razor blades. Sabre also was somewhat amazed at how much he recognized him. This figure raised one of the blades high and took aim at Sabre as he was pinned to the ground. This time, though, Sabre was able to flash an arm and shoot out his own forearm blades to block the attack. The shape of the figure’s blades helped them lock in with Sabre’s, which allowed Sabre to spin his arm so that the figure tumbled off of Sabre and to the side. Sabre jumped to his feet, and the two surrounded each other with their respective weapons in a sort of Mexican standoff. Sabre saw in the corner of his eye the figures on the building leaping at one another themselves. Not even a second in, a chunk of cement and iron was blasted out of one of the towards and he could hear Civilians on the ground screaming and fleeing for their lives. Despite the attraction happening to his left, Sabre had his eyes locked to the figure on the same building as him. Sabre only had the knife-like set of blades on his forearms ready. In what turned out to be a vain attempt to intimidate the figure, Sabre flashed, on each arm, a pair of swords that laid against the contours of his wrists and extended past a good half a meter. As a response, the figure raised an arm and shot some sort of fluid at Sabre’s face. Sabre arched to the side just in time to see the substance pass him by. But, when he turned back, that figure was straight in his face, a firm hold on him. Before Sabre knew it, he and the figure launched off the side of the building, and down towards the ground. Sabre shook free and threw his own blades at the figure before him, watching visions of the other fighters battling in the air as both of them plummeted towards the asphalt. Sabre felt the sharp sting of the surface of the world smashing into his vertebrae. He didn’t have time to acknowledge the pain, and jumped away just as the other figure slammed his blade into the spot where Sabre had just landed. The Mexican-standoff-scenario began to occur between the two once more. And Sabre could also see a mob of more Brawlers running towards them, some of the Watchmen included.
|
|
|
Post by The Omnipresence on Dec 18, 2010 23:39:38 GMT -5
Nice to see you update this after A WHOLE DAMN MONTH YOU SON OF A-
I mean nice work. Keep it up.
|
|
|
Post by Balto-Boy on Dec 19, 2010 23:30:14 GMT -5
Nice to see you update this after A WHOLE DAMN MONTH YOU SON OF A- Hey, you can't rush art... Reason for Editing: Irrelevant pic was irrelevant.
|
|
|
Post by llllllllllll on Dec 21, 2010 10:40:21 GMT -5
Wow I read this story starting from chapter one, and I must say ITS AWESOME I can't wait for more. Keep up the good work Balto!
|
|
|
Post by Balto-Boy on Dec 28, 2010 1:09:39 GMT -5
Holy shiznit, it didn't take me a month this time... Chapter 17: Childlike Innocence Gunsmith’s eyes darted around the battlefield, scanning the entire area to create a mental map of the madness around them. Satisfied, he held out his hands in front of him. Sparking into existence was what looked like a unique type of assault rifle, which plopped into Gunsmith’s outstretched hands with a soft thud. He reached at the bandolier that was fit snugly across his chest. He pulled out a metal clip that had the phrase “Anti-B” written on the side of it and he locked it into the weapon. He freed one of his hands and reached for a box at his waist. Gunsmith clicked a button on the side of the walkie-talkie and spoke into it. “Watchman Gunsmith at Eastern Junction, Vendors’ Block 6. Are there any Watchmen nearby?” The crackling white noise filled the walkie-talkie speaker for a brief moment. Then it spoke back. “This is Swordkill, Gunsmith! I can see it all from here! I’ve got Quickfeet with me, and we’re gonna head that way!” After Gunsmith put the radio away, Grimscott ran after him from around the corner of a building. He turned around to see her slightly panting after stopping behind him. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Gunsmith asked worriedly. Grimscott took one big breath to cover up the pants. “Are you kidding?! After three days, I need to kick something’s ass!” Gunsmith rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Fine. If you’re sure...” “Hey, Gunsmith!” the radio cracked again. “Quickfeet and I are gonna pick up John and McJ and the-” “Leave ‘em, Swordkill!” Gunsmith shouted into the walkie-talkie. “You gotta get down here!” “But we could use help.” “If you do see them, tell ‘em to get to MadGamer and keep him away from here!” “Wha- Why?” “Just do it!” Gunsmith slammed the walkie-talkie back to his belt and then spun back to Grimscott. “You ready, girlie?” Grimscott lowered her brow at Gunsmith. “If you ever call me that again, I will destroy you.” “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” ***** The children immediately ran to the new space in the apartment, peering over the shattered wall with utmost glee. Their eyes locked on to the fight in front of them, though obscured by the cloudy early-evening sky. With their ears being crowded by the noise of the brawl and the noise of their own jeers and cheers, Nekrozoa stepped up and looked over all of their heads. He thought to himself how best to enter the fray, seeing as he was now legally required to do so. Grimzuma looked up to Nekrozoa, who seemed to be lost in intense thought (though no one could really tell). “Are you gonna help them, Mr. Nekrozoa?!” she asked excitedly. “Very soon,” Nekrozoa replied without averting his eyes from the fight. “I’m thinking how best to do it.” “I’m thinking just dive right in!” Pencil Boy interrupted loudly. He placed a foot for leverage on the wreckage of the apartment and readied the large pencil weapon of his. Other children soon followed suit, clamoring for the first position out of the apartment that rested a good 20 stories in the air. ***** Sabre and his assailant circled each other still, ignoring the fighting that happened all around them. Both of them had their respective weapons drawn. As the two circled each other, both of them were aiming their blades towards the other’s throat. “What are you trying to do, Travis?” Sabre asked the assailant, his eyes locked to his. “Stop you,” Sir Emo said plainly. “I know your game, Sabre.” “You’re being paranoid,” Sabre told him. “I’m not trying anything.” “Bullshit,” Sir Emo spat. “You’ve been with them the entire time. Now I know what you’ve been up to. I should’ve known when I didn’t see you in the fighting...” “I’ve been trying to escape them for months. And I finally did. Surely, you know how that goes.” “Just stop it,” Sir Emo retorted. “Just stop. You’ve been found out.” “...I’m not trying anything...” Sabre muttered defensively. Either Sir Emo didn’t hear him or had nothing to say, for he didn’t say anything else during this stand off. As the two turned in their circle, though, Sabre continued watching and Sir Emo did the same. It seemed as if the two managed to block out all of the world around them, and focus on the battle at hand, concentrating on this tiny circle of broken concrete on which they stood. But, in what seemed like a sudden moment, the concentration was broken. Sir Emo didn’t acknowledge, but Sabre heard all too well. He spun around to see the noise behind him, however soft it may be. And Sabre found a Brawler pacing behind him, his red jacket swaying in the winds of battle, his afro bouncing randomly as he walked, and a large, golden, broken halo illuminating his path. Sabre had no time to react. McJesus lifted up a semi-gloved hand at Sabre. Sabre hadn’t even moved before he saw the tiny spark in the gloved palm. And then there was only light. ***** Just as Nekrozoa reached out to stop them all, a giant fireball erupted from the scene. Many of them were blinded by the flash except for a select few. Almost immediately afterwards, a large wind knocked the group off balance and a thundering boom accompanied it. As the boom subsided, the group gradually recovered their senses. The large thundering gave way to the sound of A.J. and McJunior chanting “DAD’S OUT THERE!” almost in unison (and these were the only children not phased by the blast). “It’s getting quite serious...” Nekrozoa muttered to himself. Pencil Boy turned around to face him. “Then we got to get ou-” A random voice struggled to yell so loudly. “DUCK!” The children and Nekrozoa looked out to see a body flying towards them. It was small and extremely pale, hardly looking likc a human being. The children did as the unknown voice told them to do, but Nekrozoa leaped up at the sight of the figure and snatched the little man out of the air. The man was carefully placed down on the floor of the ruined apartment, a smelly and globby substance dripping from his large mouth. As he dust himself off and shook his head to regain focus, that same substance dribbled all over the room. “You alright, Vomit Guy?” Nekrozoa asked plainly. Vomit Guy bubbled some seemingly-incoherent noise through the dribbling substance. Immediately the children began barking questions at Vomit Guy, most of them coming from the youngest of the children there. Vomit Guy backed away as the children’s questions continued. “ENOUGH!” Nekrozoa shouted as concrete and commanding as he could (which wasn’t much at all). “Vomit Guy, what’s happening down there?” Vomit Guy bubbled out more gibberish through the nasty substance that fell out of his mouth almost like a waterfall. This at least quieted the curious children, who cocked their heads in confusion as they tried to figure out what this little spewing midget was saying. Apparently, he was saying something, because Nekrozoa could understand him perfectly. “Are all of them down there?” “Warble, grablegh, barglehgarble.” “How is the fight progressing?” “....werbla, glarble.” “Well, I’ll come back with you to assist.” “Blarghle!” At the moment of this noise, Vomit Guy reached to his side and pulled out a strange vial. Inside there was a swishing of some sort of liquid that Nekrozoa couldn’t identify. “What is this?” “Grablah, garble! Blubagarblablub!” “And this will-” “Bloahga whag!” “I will accompany you then. Children, you stay here! It seems that the fight will stay over there... you should be safe here.” There was a collective “Awww!” in the room. “I said stay! Your powers are not strong enough to handle this! You can stay here and watch, but that is it! I’ll be right back.” The children stood aside as Nekrozoa motioned them to do so. With Vomit Guy close behind him, Nekrozoa leaped from the hole in the apartment and shimmied his way down the side of the building, bounding off of walls and fire escapes on his way down. Vomit Guy did the same, a trail of yellowish goop trailing him the whole way, the children watching the whole thing in amazement. They watched as the two ran off towards a cluster of buildings, then finally disappearing from sight. “Well, that was cool!” Yacascott said in amazement. There was a brief silence afterwards, the children still gawked over the edge of the broken wall like a group of baffled zombies. Then McJunior broke the silence. “So who else is going out there?” Many of the children exclaimed in excited response. Except for one. “I dunno...” Grimzuma muttered. This statement seemed to attract everyone else’s attention. “It... it seemed like Nekrozoa wasn’t too... stuck up or smart-sounding or whatever at the end there, didn’ it?” “What are you talking about?” A.J. demanded. “He sounded exactly the same as always: dull and boring.” “But he usually uses big words and stuff all the time,” Grimzuma speculated. “It wasn’t so much when he tried to yell at us...” “Well, Nekrozoa’s pretty stern, if that’s what you mean,” McJunior assured. “But he’s always like that. Always. He’s just paranoid ‘cause there are twenty guys out there fighting right now which WE NEED TO GET TO LET’S GO!” “But it’s bugging me so much!” Grimzuma let out in frustration. “It’s like an itch in that spot between your shoulders!” “You’re reading to much into this, sis!” Yacascott told her. Immediately afterwards, he jumped up on the ledge of the busted wall and bounded his way to the roof of the next building, the others watching after him intently. He stumbled at the edge and came close to loosing his footing, but ultimately made it to the rooftop. “Are any of you pansies coming or what?!” McJunior quaked in excitement. “OH YES I WILL.” A pair of feathered wings sprouted violently from McJunior’s back. Without warning, they both waved down at the floor and blasted McJunior into the air. Too overcome with the tension and thrill of the moment, all of the other children followed suit, either leaping or flying their way to the fight in their own ways. Grimzuma, of course, was the most reluctant, pausing for a moment to consider. But in the end, she didn’t want to be left behind. ***** Gunsmith shielded his eyes from the blast, Grimscott squinting into the blinding light. So much for the McJesus plan... Gunsmith thought. With that, both he and Grimscott charged into the fight. Once inside the fray, Gunsmith was unable to hear himself even think, the noise of everything from pounding fists to crumbling buildings rocking his eardrums from all sides. This wasn’t a problem for Grimscott, though, as she typically fought without thinking too much (which has proved quite effective over the course of her Brawling career). At a point, the two split, Grimscott shouting and leaping at some unknown fighter while Gunsmith kept on running. Gunsmith was stopped as some sort of creature crashed in front of him, forcing him to stumble back in order to avoid the giant body. He only caught a glimpse of it, but from what he could tell it looked like a bug of some kind. Running after it was a young Brawler with spiky purple hair and four claws expelling from his back. Gunsmith recognized Scorpion all too well. Right after, he could see a giant tree-like monster swinging around the Brawler AppleCore like a flail, and Gunsmith pointed and shot the rifle as the monster flew by. Gunsmith swore that he hit the monster, but he really couldn’t tell. Regardless, he kept on moving. Gunsmith heard a crash behind him and turned to see a man-bat combination forced into the asphalt. The Brawler Psibat began to crawl his way out of the crater when a large dark gargoyle stomped on top of him, possibly seven-foot tall, wings that spanned an entire city block and was a lean warrior that looked as if it could easily lift the weight of twenty men. It stood on top of the comparatively-tiny Psibat snarling at the crippled slump with glaring white eyes and long dripping fangs. Gunsmith’s rifle shot up and loudly blasted bullets into the gargoyle’s chest. As if it were reaching for a snowball, the angered gargoyle reached down and scooped up a chunk of stone and dirt and heaved it at Gunsmith. He managed to dodge the ball of debris, but it came close enough to rail the rifle out of his hands. The gargoyle ignored the downed Psibat and bee-lined at the distracted Gunsmith, who hurriedly spawned the first gun that came to mind, which happened to be an automatic shotgun. At that point, though, the sprinting gargoyle was not even ten feet away and easily could get to Gunsmith before he even fired. A jettison of wind cut viciously into Gunsmith’s skin via a tunnel in front of him. In said tunnel, Quickfeet had a batch of fists barraging the gargoyle as hard as he could. One final blow audibly cracked the gargoyle’s cheek bone and sent it tumbling for a multi-storied strip mall nearby. Quickfeet landed safely and examined his work. Then noticed Gunsmith running back for the lost rifle and Psibat weakly crawling from the hole. “I guess I’m saving everyone’s asses today...” he said smugly. Over in the distance, the gargoyle could be seen working its way to a stand, shaking off the blow Quickfeet had placed. Quickfeet, of course, noticed this and sprinted his way at the beast. “I don’t think so, son!” Gunsmith could hear the wind god yelling. As Gunsmith worked to a stand, he looked over towards Quickfeet’s target. In a matter of either excellent timing or horrible luck, a giant blob of some kind sprang from a building adjacent to the strip mall and engulfed Quickfeet almost entirely. Gunsmith shouted for Quickfeet, who summoned a giant wind in an attempt to free himself from the giant blob of a monster. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of Psibat being launched into the air, then an unknown blast shooting him into a nearby skyscraper. As soon as Gunsmith could even acknowledge this, a glimpse of a fighter flashed in front of him and socked him square in the bridge of his nose. Gunsmith eyes shook in his skull as the back of his head cracked the sidewalk. And right after, the familiar clone of MadGamer flashed above him. “Remember me, guv’na?!” the clone snarled. Gunsmith’s head was snatched in a set of fingers and thrown back onto the ground. And before he could get up, the clone flashed into the air and threw a punch that started at a story in the sky and pounded Gunsmith and quaked the ground. As Gunsmith lay there crippled, Vertex mercilessly smashed both fist and foot into Gunsmith’s battered body, blood either leaking or bruising with each blow. However, Vertex was barraged with a flurry of tiny purple flames in front of him. The peppering obscured his view and pinched at much of his body. As the purple flames barraged the MadGamer clone, a small fireball ignited at Vertex’s waist and reeled him back away from Gunsmith. With that, though, he pressed a button on the device on his wrist and vanished. “Gunsmith! Are you alright?!” a voice called. A battered Gunsmith sat up and looked in front of him as he tried to regain himself. He was unaware of who launched the shots, until the fighters ran up from behind him. Grimzuma and Yacascott ran up to each shoulder of Gunsmith. He looked at the both of them, and caught a glimpse of McJunior, A.J., and Pencil Boy passing by ahead. Gunsmith couldn’t help but be confused. “What the hell are you doing here?!” Gunsmith demanded, albeit weakly. “We’re going to help you,” Yacascott sternly assured. “Whether you guys want it or not.” Behind them, McJunior plummeted from the sky and belly flopped into the street. Right behind him, Vertex stepped next to the young Brawler, snatched up a wing, and whirled McJunior around like a hammerthrow. McJunior tried his best to fire off an explosion to stop the madness, but he could never get one close enough to falter the toss, and he ended up rocketing into a nearby window. Gunsmith stood to his feet, spawned a high-powered rifle and placed another “Anti-B” clip inside. At his side, both children of Grimscott and Yacazuma stood ready to assist to the best of their underdeveloped abilities. ***** His vision was blurry and his head pounded ferociously. He grunted in agony and frustration as his vision began to clear. A crowd of people had apparently formed around him, the fact that they weren’t concerned with the fighting being a curiosity. As his vision became clearer, though, he could see that he was no longer near the fighting scene. And that he was the only Brawler in this street. He worked his way to his feet, wobbling the entire way. Sabre tried his best to remember what had just happened, his head throbbing as an apparent protest every time he tried. People muttered and rumored amongst themselves as Sabre rubbed his face and eyes in fatigue. Ignoring the questioning people around him, and the battle that clearly continued off in the distance, Sabre limped away from the wreckage (which he could now see used to be a coffee shop) and worked his way to who-knows-where. ***** “See, now, my son. This is the secret that they’ve been keeping from you.” From an over-elaborate couch, both The Omnipresence and Scotty examined a television screen that hung from a support from the ceiling of this luxurious room. On the screen was the video of a large fight in the city caught from a news helicopter (which hovered quite a distance away from the fighting). It captured much of the individuals brawls that occurred here, darting the camera from the two man-canine combinations warring on a rooftop to the wind god being ransacked by a gargoyle and some blob creature. As the camera darted around, it soon focused on one fight in particular. The Brawler Gunsmith was fighting off a person that looked exactly like the Brawler’s reigning Ruler & Commander, the MadGamer. Assisting Gunsmith to the best of their powers were a trio of children that were born from more-popular Brawlers. Scotty knew them immediately. Scotty sat in stunned silence. “They’ve known the whole time,” The Omnipresence informed. “They made you leave your former teachers not because of how smart you are, but because of how much of a threat they think you are.” Scotty didn’t respond. He only stared ahead. Finally, he spat out a broken “Wh-why... wha...” “They want to keep you from me,” The Omnipresence explained. “They think I deserve it. Well, so much for their plans. You are my son, and I intend to have you at my side, as is my right. Not even your fake parents could stop me.” The last sentence caught Scotty’s attention. He looked up to The Omnipresence with quivering eyes, a look that pleaded the Brawler desperately for an explination. “Well, they couldn’t have you ‘blab’ about where you came from, could they? They had to convince you, make you oblivious to your origins so you couldn’t lead me to you. It was a grand plan that your quote-unquote ‘parents’ were a part of. I’m lucky I found you. Had to have an agent go door-to-door to find you.” “Well...” Scotty muttered. “...well, they seemed to care, though...” “I’m afraid they’ve had years of practice. I’m sure the people caring for your sister have, as well.” And Scotty finally broke down. He hid his head in a pair of folded arms, hiding the watering eyes that he knew were about to burst and muffle the coming sobs. For reasons not entirely known to him, Scotty did not want this man to see him this way; he wasn’t sure whether it was because of what he’s always been taught, or because he truly began to feel that The Omnipresence was a valid mentor, perhaps even a father. Though he tried his hardest, Scotty could not cover his emotions. There was even a moment when Scotty’s skin flickered from the pinkish hue to that sinister black. The Omnipresence gently placed a hand on the boy’s heaving shoulder, gripping it in an very slight embrace. “Well,” the Brawler finally said. “At you now know. And we now have one another.” Scotty didn’t seem to acknowledge the thought, and continued to hide his head. “Tell me, then,” The Omnipresence began. “With all you now know, do you think you are ready for me to strengthen you? Are you ready to train? To become stronger?” Scotty finally raised his head and looked up to The Omnipresence. The two stared at each other for a time, waiting for one or the other to show some sort of response. Finally, much to The Omnipresence’s delight, a smile formed on Scotty’s face. “Excellent,” The Omnipresence grinned exceptionally, fighting off a tear he could feel coming himself. “I know you will do me proud, Omniscott.” Scotty’s brow lowered, and his grin grew wider. His wants were clear. Reason for Editing: Because I can, that's why.
|
|
|
Post by llllllllllll on Dec 28, 2010 2:32:37 GMT -5
That was awesome! Loving the series so far this plot has me hooked.
|
|
|
Post by destructin on Dec 28, 2010 13:03:24 GMT -5
comment.
gud werk
/comment
|
|
|
Post by Balto-Boy on Jan 27, 2011 0:01:29 GMT -5
Geez, I gotta be done with this eventually, right? Right? Chapter 18: Time Passes... Over the course of recent events, the office has grown very cluttered and messy. He has managed to clean it up at least somewhat, but it still looked quite unorganized. As the MadGamer sat in his seat, it seemed as if a lot of said cluttered served very little (if any) purpose, for there was only one thing on which he focused: the map. On his desk was a desk lamp, a handful of pens and pencils, various tools, and that one giant map of the entire city, marked sloppily with loads of x’s, blots, and other such marks. The MadGamer sit silent, his hand cradling his creased forehead, but inside his mind was racked. He has been sending out hunting teams around the city 24/7 ever since the large-scale battle with Brawlers and Finales in the Eastern Junction. And no one has found neither hide nor hair of the Finales or Reponza or anyone of that sort. There were no clues, Brawlers became distracted (and those that didn’t complained about a Dire Mandate clause implemented when there was no obvious threat), and now there was more resentment from the Civilians after the Brawler children were hospitalized. McJesus thought he had a lead after reporting that the new Brawler Sabre was fighting Sir Emo in the battle. Of course, when they tried using a summon trophy to beckon him, no one could find it. Needless to say, there was a new suspect. MadGamer grew frustrated in all this. It had grown to the point that he was beginning to develop a questionable judgement in all Brawler affairs. With his paranoia running rampant, he would deploy drafted Brawlers to crash a Civilian neighborhood only to find a pair of teenagers playing with fireworks. There was another instance when the MadGamer ordered a group of Brawlers to chase after what ended up being a stray cat. Some people swore that the MadGamer’s hair was beginning to grey. There was a knocking on the door to this office room. The MadGamer didn’t even acknowledge it. “It’s open.” The double doors simultaneously opened to the sides of the office, a trio of Brawlers walking in together: McJesus, John, and Quickfeet. The appearance of the latest search party redirected the MadGamer’s attention to the new events at hand. “Fantastic!” he said emphatically. “What is there to report?” Each of the Brawlers that entered the office looked around the messy room, avoiding eye contact with the MadGamer after he asked such a question. He could hear muffled sighs of disappointment slipping through their sealed lips. The MadGamer wasn’t so enthusiastic. “Well, I should’ve known as much...” he stated as he sat back down. “Quite frankly, guys, I’m stumped as to where to search next... I suppose we could try the North Junction again. It’s the busiest of-” “MVG,” John broke in. “We... are thinking that... maybe you should call all of this off.” The MadGamer looked to the three with an open jaw. “...what?” “Gamer,” McJesus continued. “It’s been more than four months since we’ve last seen them. At all. Maybe if we had a lead by now, but they’re surely long-” “NO,” the MadGamer interrupted. “We’ve just had horrible timing! If we just keep on going, we’ll eventually...” At the sound of this last sentence, Quickfeet could clearly be heard muttering something like “Oh, good fucking lord...” as he rolled his head and eyes in annoyance. In no time at all, that annoyance became frustrated anger, and Quickfeet dashed his way through all of the clutter in the desk and had the MadGamer against the back window. “Now listen here, you son of a bitch...” Quickfeet snarled. “Quickfeet!” McJesus called. “You promised you weren’t going to do this...” “SHUT UP. Look, pal, I’m through with your shenanigans here,” Quickfeet whispered through clenched, grinding teeth. “You’ve had all 500 or so Brawlers running around an entire planet because of some bullshit paranoia.” “The Brawlers are still missing...” MadGamer spat. “We don’t know-” “Oh, they can take care of themselves!” “Have you not noticed how much stronger these things are?! Or do I need to remind you of how you fared yourself against some of them...” A monsoon of wind swallowed up the office as the furious Quickfeet yelled at the top of his lungs, his face slowly becoming a radish, his limbs and body seizuring in pure concentrated fury, the muscles in his face and the blood vessels in his head bulging at the barrier of his skin in a vain attempt to free themselves. In an instant, Quickfeet’s world was engulfed by a tint of blue. Outside of his own view, John was engulfing the Brawler in a box of energy and pulling him away from the MadGamer. In a brief moment of realization, Quickfeet manage to qualm his rage slightly, egged on by the words of the other two Brawlers. “Enough, Quickfeet!” McJesus snarled at the energy box. “That isn’t going to help anything. Look, MVG, it’s obvious that both of them are long gone by now. Two parties that big fighting each other? We would’ve seen something within this time.” The MadGamer, as a response, sat at his seat, slightly rubbing his chin in pondering. Then his face showed some sort of revelation. “They must be in the Negasphere then!” Quickfeet’s face fell into his palm. “Really? Reeeallly???” “We have guards all around the Negashpere,” John reminded him. “You remember? We would’ve heard-” “That one guy!” the MadGamer interrupted. “He can teleport! They could easily just... go in and...” The MadGamer’s speech faded away as he remembered what the Negasphere was. Too many people go in and out of the Negasphere for no one to notice them; there are Brawlers occasionally battling there and an astounding number of Civilians excavating Negafuel in the Negasphere pretty much all the time. The MadGamer slumped and let out an echoing sigh. “What the hell am I doing, guys...?” he muttered miserably. “That’s a damn good question...” Quickfeet said. “You’re intentions are pretty good,” John reassured. “But it’s over. I mean, if we see them, then sure. But you can’t have us running around to chase something we don’t even know is there anymore.” “Well, then where did they go, John?” the MadGamer said bitterly. John shrugged. “I don’t know, but you aren’t going to find them by making everyone hate you!” “He’s right,” McJesus agreed. “In fact, I heard some talk yesterday amongst some Brawlers. They were discussing an overthrow.” The MadGamer raised up from his slump, and set back in his chair to let out a loud breath of air. For a moment, he silently looked up to ceiling, the only movement he made being his chest steadily lifting and lowering. His chair spun around, creating a wall between him and the Brawlers who were steadily growing impatient. His elbow rested on the chair’s arm and his face bulged inside of his hand. The dreary-eyed MadGamer took a look out of his office window and down to the sidewalk’s corner. As he stared, he saw the after-image of a familiar figure running down the path. A spark snapped in his brain, a quick moment of excitement. Though, it quickly was extinguished, as he immediately recognized the flashback. His chest growing heavier, the MadGamer let out yet another sigh. If only they would make it that easy again... “Alright then,” the MadGamer finally said, the ears of the other three Brawlers perking in response. The MadGamer spun around in his chair, the dreary eyes still very present. “Call all the search parties back. And let everyone know that the Dire Mandate’s been lifted.” Each of the three Brawlers expressed relief in their own fashion: Quickfeet with his smug mocking, John with his emotions peeking out on his sleeve, and McJesus with his subtle smile and nod. “Good to work some sense in you, MVG,” McJesus said finally. “Well, thank you guys...” the MadGamer said with a half smile. “Now get to it.” The Brawlers all agreed right away, and turned themselves out of the door. The MadGamer followed them with his eyes until they left the room. He listened to their inane chatter until they reached the elevator at the end of the hallway and it dinged to the bottom floor. And with that, the MadGamer returned to scanning the giant map of the city. ***** Michael’s vision swirled all around in a blurred heap of madness. As his head loosely swivelled and rocked, he could see figures standing all around him, pumping thier hands in the air and booming cheers that echoed in the room, pounding at his throbbing headache. He felt tired. His skin was soaked to the bone in a rank odor. He could barely place a hand to his mouth to examine the blood pouring from his lips. He stumbled and fell and danced as his sense very slowly began to steady and the crowd became clearer. And amidst all of the frantic people encircling him, he saw one young man before him; there was one man there, very strong and lean, hair blond and spiked, and he wore a smug grin and held out taunting hands while soaked in that same odor and slime as Michael. “What’s the matter, grandpa?” the young man said in a headsplitting, echoing voice. “You a little too past your prime?” In a desperate strain, Michael’s eyes shut away the crowd of men in that large basement and zeroed in on that one spoiled brat of a man in the ring. His ears stopped ringing, his eyes became focused, and Mike swung a large tired arm into the jawline of this man before him. The man reeled back and spat out a large droplet of blood, and the crowd roared. The other tired arm jettisoned around Mike’s shoulders and smashed into the young man’s nose. The man woozy, perhaps even crippled, Mike sprang forward in a sloppy lunge and primed his shoulder towards the man’s torso. But the other man reacted first. Mike felt the man’s grip on his shoulder, and then a strong kick to his stomach. When the man fell down to him, Mike desperately smacked at the hard floor as hard as he could. Again, the crowd roared. The man pressed against the floor to raise himself to his feet. Panting, he looked down over Mike and offered a hand. “You’re pretty good for an old timer...” “Old timer... shmole minor,” Mike heavily panted, using that outstretched hand to level himself. “I’m five years older ‘dan you, ‘Donny Boy’...” “Well... at least you’re not as much of a pussy as when you joined...” “Amen ta dat.” The two men, battered and bruised, walked their way over to a nearby station that held a plethora of medical supplies (just the basics of course; bandages, gauze, alcohol of every variety, etc.). The rest of the men there applauded them the entire way and offered an occasional pat to the back. Once they both made it past the people and to the actual booth, another fight began in that ring. The other man took a look in the mirror and noted the broken nose. Almost instinctively, he took a pair of tubes made from some sort of material and shoved one into each nostril, cringing as they made a terribly-disgusting sort of squishy crunch. As Mike rummaged through a box of various items, the man was busy placing bandages and stabbing his eyebrow with a sewing needle. “Hey, man,” the man known as Don began. “Do you ever think we’re gonna use this stuff?” Mike pulled a heap of bandages out of the small locker against the wall. He answered the question as he wrapped some around his forearm and flexed his sore wrist. “I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’m def’nitely gonna.” Don gave a skeptical huff as he snipped the line tied to the needle. “You got a plan for that or what?” “It’ll come to me.” “Psssh! Yeah, good luck with that! You’re gonna need more than fight to take one of ‘em out…” “Ah, I’ll, just, figure sometin’ out eventually!” His portion of the repairs finished, Don put the whole kit back into its locker as Mike continued with his own assessment. Don leaned against the wall next to the lockers, standing in silence as Mike repaired himself. A question popped up in Don’s mind. “You hear anything from Sheila yet?” Mike stayed silent for a moment, briefly recalling that moment more than three months ago this day. He remembers that there was a lot of crying and a bit of yelling when she decided it was all a bit too much. Supposedly, she was with her mother, but there was no sign of her there. And in Brawl City, only God knows where to even start looking. It was painful for quite some time and it brought Mike to a dark place, but he began growing used to it. All of the nostalgia only shown through with a heavy sigh. “No… no still haven’t.” Don looked up for a moment as the crowd just outside of the room cheered loudly once more. “Damn…” he said as he looked to them. “Well… sorry to bring it up and all.” Mike turned and waved him off. “Hey, don’ worry ‘bout it.” Mike looked past Don and up towards the ceiling. Hanging there was a rather plain white-faced clock with black hands that rested miserably in place. A small shock of realization ran over him, and he clearly showed it. Don looked up to the clock and back, but showed no real expression. “I take it you’re leaving.” Don smiled with a raised eyebrow. “Yup,” Mike responded hurriedly. As he did, he reached over towards a different locker and pulled out some kind of shirt and pants; which were more than casual attire, but not quite formal, but the exact details were almost invisible in the dimmer light. He put on another pair of shoes and slipped the black pants over his shorts, but carried that shirt over his arm as he paced out. “Hey, Don,” Mike said as he paced out of the room. “You take care!” Don raised a hand and smirked. “You too, crazy bastard.” As Mike headed out, some of the crowd (no longer concerned with a fight at this point) spotted him as he headed towards the exit. Many of them raised their hands and moaned sarcastically in protest as Mike began to leave. Mike, though, still headed towards the door as he threw that shirt over himself, smiling to the group and trying to explain himself over their friendly roars. Eventually, he made it out of the room and everyone went on about their business. Mike began running out of what looked like a wine cellar, peering around for anyone that may be nearby. He continued on as he buttoned up the shirt and strapped some belt around his waist. As he turned the corner, the sun’s rays hit him. And a piece of metal that read “To Protect and Serve” glistened brightly on his chest. ***** The MadGamer jerked with a start, his blue-and-orange eyes wide and reddened and his limbs uncontrollable for a split-second. His breathing was slightly labored and he somehow felt on edge. As he looked around, however, everything was exactly the same as he remembered it, except for a resounding silence only interrupted by the white noise of the few cars rolling on the streets and a darkness only parted by a single desk lamp shining down on the map of Brawl City. The MadGamer rubbed his head and eyes in exhaustion, unable to shake that horrible haunting from a nightmare he couldn’t remember. His face slumped rather loudly into his hand, and rested there as his weary eyes scanned the office lazily. He almost jumped again when his eyes hit the corner of the room. “’Bout time you woke up…” Gunsmith said dully. MadGamer muttered some fatigue-induced gibberish, not even realizing that his portal gun was pointed at Gunsmith. “Man… what’re you doing here?” he asked in a pathetic moan. “Just keeping watch,” Gunsmith replied, clearly exhausted himself. The shotgun in his hand vanished in a splatter of bright sparks, and he stood on his feet. “Just be glad someone gives a crap.” The MadGamer was unable to express anything aside from grogginess, though he did raise a corner of his frowned mouth. “Yeah… well thanks. I know I’ve-” Gunsmith held up a hand. “Save it. I know. I’m a part of this too, remember?” “Oh yeah,” the MadGamer nodded weakly. “I almost forgot about that…” He huffed softly as he shuffled towards the office doors. Gunsmith followed him with a gaze, waiting to follow the MadGamer out of the building. Both of them were making noises and motions that shown example of their overall sleepiness, and the two headed out the hallway towards the elevator together. As the two were making their tired walks and shuffles, a wobbly-eyed MadGamer had a question come to mind. “I meant ask, has anyone found Shackles yet?” Gunsmith shook his head, though didn’t look at the MadGamer. “I would assume he’s back with the others… I hope that’s the case.” The MadGamer nodded in agreement. They both stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to head to the main floor. The car rolled down its rope and stopped at its destination. And without incidence, both the MadGamer and Gunsmith groggily made it back to their homes in that dreary night.
|
|
|
Post by The Omnipresence on Jan 27, 2011 13:16:46 GMT -5
Geez, I gotta be done with this eventually, right? Right? Well maybe if you kept going and make a new chapter errday, you could. You totally could.
|
|
|
Post by Balto-Boy on Feb 14, 2011 1:25:03 GMT -5
Be warned, to the three of you still here, long chapter is long. Also, as I was typing this, a random dialog box came up in Word, and it read "i like this". Totally an omen. Chapter 19: Sudden Storm “Hey, Princess! Wake up!” A loud smack was heard in and outside of the tiny room. Sabre awoke with a startle, a pain in both his head and his shoulder where a make-shift alarm clock/fist had pummeled him to consciousness. From under his long bangs, Sabre’s eyes flickered and shifted to eventual life while he moaned and groaned. “You slept in, Num-nuts,” Southpaw said smugly from above the cot. He turned to leave Sabre’s tiny one-man room. “I hope you slept well, then…” Sabre, still in his typical wear, spun to sit up on the cot. He lazily looked over to it, and smacked his hand on the stiff and bouncy material. “Like a damn baby,” he said with barely enough sarcasm. He proceeded to rise from his slumbered state and followed Southpaw out into the larger rooms of the complex. Both Sabre and Southpaw made their way through a series of hallways and small rooms, avoiding the soldiers and personal that may have brushed past them. Most of the few soldiers in the halls were already in uniform and sporting weaponry, either walking to a destination or standing officially at a door. The fairly straight-forward walk through the facility led Southpaw and Sabre to a cafeteria, which had a decent number of staff gathering food or eating it, but it was nowhere near the whole facility. One table stood out from the rest in the large room, mainly because of the huge ring of empty seats that encircled it. Out of the huge entanglement of what the general public would consider “freaks”, there was one that certainly felt no problem with standing out from the others. “Hey there boys!” Gloria gleefully shrieked above the general noise, gathering a bit of attention from people dining. Southpaw let out a loud “humph!” as Gloria skipped over and gave him a typical “Good Morning hug”. The others at the table watched Gloria go through her morning greetings, some of them rolling their eyes at the sight of it. Southpaw gave Gloria a customary pat on the back and a smirk-smile in return. Sabre stood like a statue as Gloria approached him, however. Once the nonsense was finished, Sabre headed to the back of the food line in the cafeteria, passing through the occasional judging glance of the staff around him. It was nothing he wasn’t used to by now, even if he hadn’t been living there as long as the other Finales. As Sabre reached the very back of the line, he could see Southpaw up ahead shoving people out of the way. “Sabre!” Southpaw beckoned him. “Get your ass up here!” With that sudden yelp, all eyes darted directly at Sabre, who stood in silence, his head occasionally barely moving around to look at all of the judgmental eyes staring at him. His thoughts began to wander and ponder about what these soldiers and staff must be thinking at this moment, when another yelp snapped him out of that with a startle. “Sabre! C’mon, man!” Avoiding eye contact as much as possible, Sabre obliged the command and bee-lined to Southpaw’s spot. As Southpaw was seen walking away with a tray overflowing with various breakfast goods, Sabre reached the same place, the eyes still looking to him. He simply grabbed a handful of items, just enough to tide him over, then continued to the aforementioned table. Pretty soon, all returned to normal. Not all of the Finales sat at this table, though a good number did. There was Gloria, of course, blabbing away about something Sabre missed because he sat down mid-conversation. Southpaw sat next to Sabre, half eating his pile of food and half listening to the words, while, on the other side of Southpaw, Starkly did the same except with an even bigger pile. Across from Sabre was Riq, who was barely seen eating with the others (partially because he had a hard time fitting in the seats). His body was relatively flat and had a very dark shade of violet to it. His arms were human-like, but not at all human, mixing effortlessly with a giant pair of claws at the end of them. At his sides, there did also dangle two pairs of smaller claws, but they seemed almost useless. Sabre did always feel uncomfortable around Riq, mainly because of the eyes. Despite Riq’s very arachnid-like body and shape, he had a set of four eyes that seemed completely human, the irises gleaming a noticeable gold-like color. Occasionally, as Sabre looked over, he could see Riq’s huge stinger swinging like a tail from where his large humanoid legs met. Thankfully to those sitting next to him, Riq made sure the stinger was coiled neatly with the rest of the appendage. Sabre looked around as he sat, occasionally nibbling at a muffin, and noticed Victor and Vertex were sitting around the table as well. Next to Sabre was an empty seat. He looked down to it and noticed a yellow blotch of unknown mess sitting there harmlessly. Sabre never even thought that Merconium was even allowed in here. Suddenly, Sabre was struck out of his stupor by a random punch to the shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Sabre?” Southpaw asked with a cocky smile. Sabre mindlessly uttered a response, unaware of what conversation was even taking place. “Yeah, sure…” Immediately, Southpaw faced the others and let out a chuckle, some of the others laughing with him while a couple stared intently or rolled their eyes. Sabre drifted in and out of the conversation as he looked upon all of those sitting at the table (they were reminiscing about some training exercises at Factory outposts, as it turns out). To Sabre, it seemed way to surreal that everyone here was getting along so well. Last time he met the Finales, Sabre couldn’t help but notice that only Southpaw and Starkly weren’t hostile towards each other. It used to be that the slightest utterance of a certain word or two would get a pair of Finales barking at one another like guard dogs or something, but now they all acted like good chums. Even if it has been a while since Sabre talked to any one of them for more than two minutes, the experience was a strange one. “There you all are!” a man yelled, interrupting the conversation. General Smith, in his typical attire, came speed-walking towards the table with a few manila folders under his arm. “Reponza wants you guys at the front gate right now,” the General added. “Oh yeah?” Southpaw immediately yelped. “What for?” “Because we’re leaving,” General Smith said with barely any sternness (though more than he would have when he first arrived to the Void). “We’re meeting the rest of the Finales at the gate, and there we’re meeting up with The Omnipresence.” At the mention of that name everyone there (Sabre and Victor aside) let out a collective moan like middle school children receiving homework. As this was going on, General Smith looked a bit nervously to all of them, as if he were trying to figure out what to say next without upsetting anyone. “But I don’t like that guy…” Gloria pouted. “Yeah, none of us do,” Vertex said mockingly to Gloria as a response. General Smith was still looking nervous, though no one commented towards it. “Right… well, uh, Reponza is waiting for us at the main gate and we need to get there.” Again, the collective moan sounded, but all of them rose from their seats and eventually followed Smith to their destination (much to the relief of the staff in the cafeteria). Though the trip was longer than from their individual rooms to the cafeteria, the Finales’ and Smith’s little venture was altogether uninteresting and typical: the turning of the occasional hall and dodging staff heading the other direction being the only real obstacles. Occasionally, the Finales would make snide comments to each other about this or that, but the trip was altogether silent, as the loathing all of them had towards a certain character was insistently present. The group came to a sort of drive/runway that sloped up so that the ceiling came lower and lower as one traveled farther down its length. This room was essentially a large parking garage, filled with a handful of vans and Hummers. It even had a set of doors on the other side that supposedly led to an aircraft area, though only General Smith could really confirm this theory. As the group walked into this parking garage, a small group of soldiers were gripping the door at the point where the floor met the ceiling and ran as fast as they could to pull the thing open, Reponza standing off to the side watching the ordeal. Next to him were a few more creatures: one was a large, hairy man with absurd wings and a head shaped like that of a fruit bat, big goofy eyes and all; another was a blobby mess that slopped all over itself, meaty chunks of something clearly visible while a distinguishable face was not, the closest thing that the creature had to a head being blank of any real features (this being said about what was basically a giant ball of yuck; the third was actually a man with a blonde buzzcut wearing some weird jumpsuit with a pattern that somehow resembled a circuit board and had embedded in it an odd vent-like box and wiring on each forearm and at larger ones at each shoulder blade. Reponza was the first to notice Smith and the others walk into the room. “It’s good of you all to finally show up…” he said hostilely. “I’m sorry sir,” General Smith apologized. “It took me a while to find them.” General Reponza cocked his head back and looked down his nose at General Smith. “I wonder how much time we could save,” he smeared, “if you were competent for once.” General Smith’s brow lowered. “General, I have been helping you with this operation since day one-” “AND EVEN THE TINIEST MESS UP COULD DESTROY US!” Reponza exploded. At the sudden outburst, everyone within earshot was glaring down Reponza with skepticism (some even with smirks), while Reponza held his own angered expression in this uncomfortable moment of silence. “What crawled up your butt and died?” Southpaw finally said. General Smith spun around to face the Finales behind him, looking stern for once. Glaring at them all (mostly at Southpaw), he waved a hand at the other Finales by the door and ordered all of them to head that way. As the group followed this order, General Smith beckoned Reponza off to the side, away from the others. “Reponza, you have to relax…” General Smith urged quietly. “Keep a level head in all of this.” “How the hell can I?” Reponza demanded just as quietly, though more urgently. “With the criteria from Command? This might not end well for us, Gerald!” General Smith put an arm over Reponza’s shoulder, a move that Reponza found uncomfortable and made that quite clear to Smith. “This is a warzone, anything can happen,” Smith again urged. “Maybe we’d get demoted from the Factory. Who knows? I know, though, that if you can’t stay calm during this, it’s going to happen.” Reponza let out a sigh through his nostrils, refusing to look back to the General. His eyes darted back from the floor to the Finales and soldiers grouped at the now open door (at which point, he noticed that everyone was staring at him and Smith). He raised his head and looked to them. “Mount up, gentlemen!” Reponza shouted. He started walking over to meet the soldiers and the Finales at their spot. “Let’s get going! Is the Omnipresence here yet?” A random “no sir” echoed in the hallway, Reponza replying with a harsh scowl. As if planned, however, that scowl timed the exact moment when the rushing of an engine outside shot a strong wind into that tunnel, every pure human in the room shielding their faces with their arms. As the creaking of doors could be heard and the coating fell away, a ship’s edge appeared in the view of the open doorway. And out of that new door in the large craft, a handful of figures appeared. Their silhouettes soon faded to reveal actual features and faces of the people heading that direction; there, clearly, in front of the escorting troop of soldiers, was the Omnipresence in his usual, outrageous wear. “Gentlemen!” the Omnipresence greeted to Reponza and Smith. “Good to get in touch…” He turned to the Finales off to the side, and gave them a nod. “Greetings to you, too.” They all muttered quietly in response. “Mount your people up,” the Omnipresence almost ordered the Generals. “Let’s get into place.” At about this moment, a small figure emerged from the lines of troops bearing the OMNI Corp. seal. Much like the Omnipresence, this small person was clad in armor, though it was very light and not as bulky as the Omnipresence’s was (though it was just as ornate). This small figure held many similar qualities to the Omnipresence: the jet-black skin, the reddened eyes, the proud stature, and the mean demeanor about his face. Everyone recognized the sudden emergence of this figure. One person gave the figure more than a glance, however. “…do we know him?” General Smith asked no one in particular. The Omnipresence looked down to the figure and gave a noticeable smile, which the little figure returned almost gleefully. “I don’t believe so…” the Omnipresence stated. “Yes, we did actually,” the small figure said. “Mr. Reponza gave me some chocolate some time ago.” A handful of people looked to the small figure with questioning glances, though Reponza showed no real concern. General Smith, however, was floored. “Th-th-that’s… that’s the same boy?!” General Smith stuttered heavily, a shaking finger pointed at the child. “That… how…wha-” “Perhaps you met him before he turned,” the Omnipresence inquired, a bit of annoyance in his voice. General Smith refused to understand. “He… turned? But… I don’t-” “Brawlers aren’t always Brawlers at first,” the Omnipresence started. “Some look human, then-” “You’re fascinating,” Reponza said rudely. “Let’s go already! Besides, you said you had one with you.” “Oh, yes,” the Omnipresence almost chuckled. “I almost forgot…” Without looking back, he raised a single hand and motioned someone forward. Again emerging from the line, there was a pair of silhouettes practically stumbling towards the conversing people. In between them, a weak-looking silhouette was dragging its feet carelessly, the rest of him being elevated by the soldiers on each side. The people there grew larger and larger as they came forward. In time, the two stood next to the Omnipresence and son, and threw their captive to the dirt in front of him with a loud thump. There he laid, bruised and beaten, hands wrapped in chains, and only moving enough to breathe. Some of the Marines around Reponza and Smith came forward and stood alongside this young worn figure. One took him by the chained hands, while another grabbed a tuft of his plentiful blonde hair and brought him to his feet. “ProDuce,” the Omnipresence announced. “Or as you know him, ANX v1…” The figure looked up as he stood between the two soldiers, breathing slightly heavier than what was typical. He wore a glare under his brow that punched through all of the scratches and scars and blood that coated his face. Reponza nodded with a smirk. He looked back and pointed. “Take him back to storage with the other ones!” The troops nodded with the typical “yes sir”s and began pacing back to where Reponza pointed. As the soldiers passed the Finales, who watched the entire ordeal from the sidelines, one of them stepped forward. The blonde Finale with the circuit-board clothing held up a hand and stepped in front of the group. As all of the others looked on, this one said nothing as his eyes swerved to meet ProDuce’s. After what seemed like minutes, ProDuce raised his head and looked up to the one that stood before him. And that figure put a hand on ProDuce’s shoulder. He leaned in close, and spoke whispers that only the two could hear. And the soldiers were motioned onwards. All three of them continued walking on, and disappeared behind a pair of double doors. The Omnipresence clasped his hands, bringing all of the attention back to him. “Right! Let us continue, then.” As if following sudden orders, soldiers began running to their places and speaking into radios as soon as the Omnipresence beckoned them. The Finales, albeit reluctantly, made their way to either a military convoy or the Omnipresence’s ship, wherever they were assigned. Before they dispersed, Reponza called out to all of them. “We have new orders, now!” Reponza began. “While we’re out there today, be on the lookout for Willis and Stickman also! They’re wanting those two back to base alive.” ***** The halls were echoing with bellowing sobs and a sorrowful hysteria. In one of the apartments, a woman was weeping into her hands almost uncontrollably, despite the fact that her husband sat next to her for comfort’s sake. In the chairs opposite, glancing to each other with a loss of words, were the MadGamer and McJesus. There had been a call not too long ago to the High Command building. It was in this call, to everyone’s surprise and horror, that the Jones’ family had their daughter stolen the night before while they were asleep. The only reason that the Brawlers were concerned with this is because the Jones’ daughter wasn’t actually their daughter. The Watchmen, as quickly as possible, headed to the Jones’ apartment in hopes that they could uncover some sort of evidence as to help them track the kidnappers (which they unfortunately didn’t, to nobody’s real surprise). In a desperate last act, the MadGamer and McJesus headed into the building for an interview of sorts, the others cautiously watching the area from outside. Thusfar, the interview was proving fruitless as well. “Are you sure you can’t think of anything?” McJesus questioned, trying to talk above the sobs without yelling. “I’m sorry…” a dreary-eyed Mr. Jones stated as he patted his wife’s back. “Like we said, both of us were sound asleep when it happened. I’d be more than happy to tell you if there was.” McJesus nodded and leaned back in his chair. The MadGamer rocked back slightly and let out a huff/sigh into the air. McJesus turned to the MadGamer. “What do you suggest we do now?” The MadGamer, laying back in his seat, hands behind his head and looking up to the ceiling, sighed again. “Not a whole lot of options,” he shrugged. “Best thing I can think of is more sentry patrols.” “You know no one’s going to go for that…” McJesus shook his head. “ “Yeah… yeah I know.” Both of the Brawlers sat in their respective places, silent as they pondered through options in their heads. As their eyes darted around the room to imitate their busy minds, Mr. Jones’ eyes were darting around to imitate his confusion. There was a silence, interrupted only by Mrs. Jones’ weak sobs, as the Brawlers mentally scrambled for ideas, and Mr. Jones was mentally scrambling for the right words to say. In time, that silence was broken. “ARE YOU GOING TO FIND MY GIRL OR WHAT?!” Mrs. Jones suddenly erupted, her redden and soaked face snapping furiously from its hiding place, a motion that made everyone else in the room jump up in their seats. “Believe me, Mrs. Jones,” McJesus was first to say. “We want to find Grimpresence as badly as-” “Prestina…” Mrs. Jones angrily corrected. “…right,” McJesus reluctantly agreed. “Well, we want to find Prestina, but we don’t know how…” “WELL, YOU’D BETTER FIGURE SOMETHING OUT, OR-” “Alright! Alright!” the MadGamer urged. “We’ll get the sentries out as soon as possible! We’ll find them…” At the mention of this, Mrs. Jones let her head drop into her hands again, Mr. Jones quick to console her. As the two looked away, the MadGamer looked to McJesus and gave a quick shake of his head to confirm the fact that he was lying to the couple. McJesus nodded back, and let out a frustrated sigh of his own. “You still have the summon items we gave you, correct?” McJesus asked. Both of the Jones nodded at the same time, Mrs. Jones still looking at the floor. “Well, if for whatever reason they show up back here,” the MadGamer started off. “Just use them and we’ll help you-” McJesus shot up like a bolt of lightning, quick enough to knock his seat the floor. A quick shove of his hand and the MadGamer was shoved into the hardwood floor. Instantly, the window shattered into a million pieces with a loud ping noise and a sudden bang. McJesus twisted his side around just in time to dodge a streak of a great bright white that darted into the room at a mind-boggling speed. He looked out the hole where the window once stood. A gleam of a rifle scope revealed a figure in a high window a building away. A wave of McJesus’ hand, and that high window and its frame bust into a ball of fire and debris which shattered glass and shook both walls and teeth, a charred gunman plummeting to the ground below. Screams and car alarms sounded; the Jones’s were frozen in fear, the only sound they made being their labored breathing. A crackling of static sounded from McJesus’ pocket. “What the hell was that?!” an electronic voice demanded from McJesus’ radio. McJesus snatched the radio from his side. “Omni’s troops are here! One of them just shot at us!” Gunfire sounded over the radio in McJesus’ hand, a noise that caught everyone’s attention. The MadGamer pushed on the floor and boosted himself back up to his own feet. Without a word, he sprinted over to the blown window in the apartment. In a desperate rush, he began to frantically –therefore clumsily- leap his way through the window to the apartment. But then, he stopped. The MadGamer looked up to the sky, and saw quite a sight. And it was very familiar. “McJ…” the MadGamer muttered. “Look at this.” McJesus stepped up to the window and looked up to the sky as well. There, shadowing a handful of buildings, was a gigantic, industrious ship that was miles and miles above the sky. As it hovered, its roaring engines overshadowing all other noises around, pods of soldiers were plummeting into the streets. They began falling a few blocks away. Then they started landing closer and closer. It wasn’t too long before their booming crashes punched and pounded on everyone’s ear drums. Both the MadGamer and McJesus rolled to the outside, and set foot on the fire escape. As the bullets flared and grazed at their heads, the two leaped over and set foot into the darkened allies and the safety of cover. With the pings and crunches of bullets hitting the walls all around them, more pods fell and vehicles were rolling into the scene. Pods and doors opened in the sight of the Brawlers stuck in the middle. The Finales emerged and began their hunt.
|
|
|
Post by Some dipshit on Feb 15, 2011 0:37:41 GMT -5
Great writing Balto, but I have one little complaint. When you describe the big N, you say he's creepy, but it doesn't really give the vibe. What about the terse, rubbery skin of a totally unnatural pallor? What about the odd-shaped fingers and awkward body language? Also, when he speaks, think Microsoft Sam. Just with better rythm. Sorry for the self-indulging infodump there. Keep writing like this, man. Anyhoo, here's a little POS I made in under 20 mins, so get yer tomatoes ready. Attachments:
|
|