(You can find the OOC here)
It's a different world, up here. In the amber glow of the noon day sun, cast across the snow ridden rooftops of New London... the ice, coated a soft burnt orange, like the first leafs of Autumn...
Some describe the thrill as bungee jumping for the first time... you can't live until you're nearly dead.
And the thrill never dies... we just abuse it, thrive on it. Because when you're up here... in the arriving embrace of the sun...
Seconds from life or death...
...Only then, are you a truly free man.
Our world has fallen into a social decay.
The earth bellow us has grinded to a halt. Man has become a slave to it's own inhibition, and the wage slaves bellow work for no benefits other than the continuation of their lives.
Like mindless drones, they march from job to job, living their park lives, blind to their own self-inflicted inferiority...
But us? We're the embodiment of freedom. We don't have to work. Or die for resisting... We just run. Like specters, we move without sound, and without error.
And I bet that sounds simple, doesn't it? We run, and soar like an eagle, or hurtle to the ground like a fallen star...?
Well, it used to be that way...
But times are changing. For all of us.
Once, we were blades within a crowd. We had faces so innocent, you could never pick us out... we were cloaked like a snow flake in the blizzard.
On average, we used to lose a couple of runners a month to fall damage... it was an inevitable hazard of our lifestyle. We accepted that much.
And the authorities never cared to stop us, either. We caused no harm, we were merely the cracks in the system, an ignorable inconvenience. But since then, society has failed us.
With every culture, there comes a time of evolution. And whilst half of us chose to carry on, and live a life of freedom and non-violence, the other half took a drastic approach to dealing with the wage slaves...
They used their abilities for moral evils. To kill, to steal, to reap the benefits. This was against our code.
My people took up arms to defend themselves, but the authorities retaliated...
The police became judge, jury and executioner...
The others became known as The Omega's...
...And we runners, became the enemy...
My name is Churchill Gunner, and this is the world I've been forced to live in.
We are everywhere, and yet unseen. We hear everything, but are not heard.
We are spirits.
We... are runners.
July 7th, 2073.
Early this morning, Sundown received intelligence that The Omegas, a rogue band of Runners that once made up the group 'Sector O', have been moving into Runner territory.
This spells bad news for the Runners, as it ensures warfare that could potentially attract the attention of Specter forces if the situation isn't handled with care.
Furthermore, we've gotten news that a newly established sector in the west, Sector N, is under attack from Omega forces as a result of their expansion.
In retaliation, Sundown has dispatched its own guardians, Sector V, in order to neutralize Omega forces, and, if possible, evacuate the residents of Sector N's territory and have them return to Sundown for debriefing and re-training.
Fight off Omega forces [ ]
Minimize potential casualties in Sector N [ ]
Evacuate Sector N survivors [ ]
Good luck Sector V.
The sun was just beginning to rise now, glinting off of the shattered glass and visible support beams of long since abandoned construction projects, and bathing New London in its golden presence.
The rooftops, for the time being, seemed quiet, and tranquil: It was rare that birds in New London flew this early, and the Wage Slaves had hours to go before they would instinctively clamber from their beds and march out to serve the will of the Operari for another day.
But not all was well, in the Runners domain. Despite the silence and tranquility that came with such a low population, the rooftops that grew closer to the west were engulfed in more of a tense silence, as smoke rose precariously from where Sector N had made their base, and the glow of distant flames danced against it's grey surface.
The Omegas has definitely been here.
Churchill was the first to arrive, having split from the Sector precociously to scout out the area, and slid to a stop on a not-too-distant rooftop in order to scope out the scene.
The smoke was heavy, and he could feel the heat of the flames, even from the distance.
Shielding his eyes, he peered in deeper, but caught no sign of any movement, and grumbled.
Then, he reached for the golf club strapped to his back, and drew it in preparation, before glancing back over his shoulder in search of other Runners.
"Bugger," he snapped, throwing his head back in the direction of the flames, "Looks like I'm waiting on the others... a fire that big? They'd wipe me out."
Sighing, he let the club drop to the floor, and leaned against it, waiting for his comrades to make their appearance.
"Here's hoping they don't just rush in..."