Have you ever felt like you were at a point in your life where you didn’t know what to do with it? How to live your day to day or where you were going with it. That was essentially how 90% of the colony felt ninety days after the comms went silent. At first people thought it was some sort of war breaking out, that rebels would rise and take the colony. Which did happen in some fashion. The gangs took each of the three islands for themselves and essentially divided the city into three. But they weren’t a rebellion. They didn’t have any demands and there was no military to wage war with them. They took what they wanted and things went quiet. Very quiet.

That feeling we were talking about before about not knowing what you were doing with your life? Imagine being trapped on an island under the control of a tyrannical gang and your only option is to fit in or leave...to another island, with another tyrant gang in charge. Feeling a bit better about your dead end job and your financial woes now aren’t ya?

Our story starts with a few souls who had to face that question of what to do and make a choice. What were they going to do with their lives? Let’s see…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYSVMgRr6pw

The moans of the near dead echoed around the desiccated building. It used to be a finance office, probably, it's dull grey walls were painted in vibrant shades and hues, layers upon layers of graffiti over each other until it was but a chaotic swirl of colour and discontent. The windows had long since been smashed out, empty hollow sockets of some great, many eyed beast which glowered upon the people below with disgust at what their lives had become. Its large double doors, a mesh of metal and glass stood snarling at the decay that threatened to encroach upon it's stone steps. Weedy vines and scraggly plants attacked the breaks in stonework, green grasping fingers that sought to throttle the life out of the decayed building. All around it swayed the one thing that didn't really belong in the iconic picture, people. Well, what was left of people, their skin was mottled green, their eyes glazed over, arms limp or incredibly rigid and taut. They were alive, or, it could be assumed they were, their breath condensed briefly in a chill gust of wind.

A scent must have followed for all noses turned this way and that, sniffing, hissing, a growl and then two of the living dead turned on one another, pounced, there was a fervent moment where madness descended on the herd and then it settled. The outer fringes calmed, the two trouble makers released one another as if they had not just been interlocked in a death dance. Like when a snake struck out, thinking it had found food, only to grasp its own tail. It was as if they were waiting, perhaps they were waiting, for death, life, for a chance, for rebirth, for love, for escape? A thousand poets could have spun a thousand tales and yet none would truly capture that lost desperation one could feel when in the presence of the infected.

Toxin territory was a lot like this, broken but beautiful, alive but festering, it was a hard place to describe easily. It was like the air was purer, freer and yet there was a smog that clutched at the ankles, somethign that drew you, grounded you, made you feel more. Perhaps that was the toxins though, the fire that ran through the blood, that made it hard to think and see and be and yet blew the mind wide open. The thing that reduced the weak into nothing but a shambling wreck but turned the strong into the very fist of Gaia. Dead but alive, free but chained, tethered but skybound, sane and mad and beautiful and terrible all at once.

A silence descended upon the rabble, a stillness that was electric with anticipation, every one of the rabble seemed to hold their breath, their skin shuddering with expectation. Then there it was, shrill and pure in the still air, a scream, a scream of terror and inevitability.

Like blood hounds there was a stir in the shambling beasts, they righted their gnarled bodies and honed in the direction of the sound. For a split second it was that pure stillness, the feeling before lightning struck, before the wave hit, before the mountains quaked. For a split second all of time had stopped in its tracks, paying homage to the prey, and it was beautiful. Then, as the lightning and the mountain and the wave, the destructive force was activated. In a mighty blob the half-life creatures burst into action. The lean ones were bounding and hurdling and running and snarling like whippets out of the fence, the larger ones were sprinting like great machines, grunting with the effort, the even larger ones shambled at the pace they could manage, shaking the concrete beneath their feet. They moved with the precision of a pod of Orca, shifting like fish in a shoal, changing and clambering.

She was young, not so young mind, but young enough to be sport. Jet black hair in a bob and nike trainers, a spilled shopping bag, the stolen tins and packets falling across the pavement. One glimpse, just one glimpse had sent horror into her spine, the fine hairs on her body standing on end and a feeling like a rock in her gut had finally over run the hunger she'd felt. She hadn't meant to scream but she had and now she had to pay the consequences. She was a good runner though, it's why she'd been set to get the food today, their group all had strengths and weaknesses and with the toxins moving through this part of town it had only made sense they'd sent her. Of course, now she wondered if they shouldn't have sent someone else instead.

There was nothing, the streets were bare, the buildings...who knew if they were locked or not and when had that really stopped the infected horde? Then she saw it, like a beacon, a car, its door ajar. She just had to get there before the infected round the corner. Her muscles burned, her lungs hurt but she pushed herself harder, she sped up, pulled away. She threw a trash can in their way, the noise distracting the front ones long enough for her to accelerate. Leaping into the front seat and fighting every urge to slam the door shut behind her. She slipped slowly into the foot well and carefully and slowly pulled the door closed. Had she been quick enough? Had they seen? Had she managed to get away?

Outside the car the horde descended, the quick were up on the roof, scrambling like monkey's, covering the doors, the sunroof, the windows, pulling at the edges of the glass and howling, laughing, like wild animals. The bigger ones came, they grabbed the car, they shook it, snarling, chattering teeth and attempting to knock the car off its wheels. Then came the shambling masses, the giant balls of muscle and mass. They bellowed like a bull and charged at the car, fisting hands together like a bludgeon and bringing them down on the bonnet, the windscreen. The glass held but it splintered, this seemed to annoy the mass and their attack continued.

In the footwell she sobbed quietly into her hands, holding her breath, closing her eyes, balling up as small as she possibly could. She was knocked around by the rocking, she couldn't see the light thanks to the fast ones, it was like being buried alive and it was all she could do not to scream and hyperventilate.

seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours and then, after what felt like days later, it all stopped. The car stopped shaking, the light returned, the snarling and howling and grunting gave way to silence. She couldn't quite believe it and for the longest moment she stayed put, unsure what to do. Lifting her head a little she saw how close the windows had been to smashing, the twisted metal, the broken windscreen wipers and side mirrors but she saw no sign of the infected. She waited, quietly, patiently and then, slowly with a curiosity uncontrollable she unlocked the door. Wincing at how loud it seemed to echo in the silence, she waited, nothing, not even a sound.

She popped the door and again she waited, again there was nothing. Had they moved on? Found someone else? It didn't matter, she threw open the door and clambered out. The door slammed firmly behind her, grinning like a Cheshire cat was one of the fast ones, perched on the roof. She whirled around, ready to sprint and came face to face with a girl, no, a woman.

Amala lifted a finger, long nail of her index finger dragged carefully and slowly up the woman's throat, "So close." Came the gentle purr that was Amala's tone -it had been a while since she'd heard her own voice-. Around her the infected were sat like dogs bought to heel, still, obedient, waiting. Oh they wanted their fun, sure, but they knew better than to try anything now, Amala didn't share. Amala's toxic eyes were reflected in the brown hue of the girl before her, hair a pastel wave of green with shards of crystal that flecked and caught the grey light like a prism. She could see in those eyes the desire to run, the girl was still scanning for escape routes and trying very hard to not soil herself. "Of course...they work on smell, not sight darling." She cooed, moving her finger away from the girls chin.

As expected the girl bolted, the horde grew restless but with a look from their leader they stilled once again. Astral liked this bit, she rolled her wrist in a practised manner, smooth movements that allowed a venomous green crystal to spill over her hand like water, solidifying in her palm, coiling like a great snake within her hand.

The girl thought she was free, they weren't following, the leader seemed almost hypnotised, she was going to survive, she was going to be free!

CRACK!

The whip coiled about the innocent throat like a snakes jaws around it's prey, it coiled tight and while the girl bought up her hands to stop the choking effect it was too late for her. The horde behind her whooped and hollered and screeched with joy.

Amala jerked back her arm, watched the girl flounder uselessly, fall on her back, grunt, and struggle but the green was already seeping into the skin. Sometimes it didn't feel right to do this to people, a flash of memory haunted her at these times, a man smiled at her over a cup of coffee, she shook her head lightly and yanked harder on the whip, dragging the woman closer. The horde grew wild, they beat the floor, their chests, they jumped, they hollered and screamed. Amala smiled, a half smile as toxic as her eyes. Sometimes it bothered her but this was life now, this was how she cured the itch in her veins, the fire in her nerves, this was how she felt good again.

That Night, Somewhere in Tritech controlled territory

Ahhh the night life. How it is what it is.

This area of the city is known as Club Central. For a straight 10 kilometers along a street in the middle of the entertainment and shopping district of the largest city on the island. Ahhh you want the best fun, then you come here. Clubs, diners, restaurants, as far as the eye can see. Every night there are lines stretching from the doors of the clubs. Bouncers checking their checklists, Tritech security, decked out in the top of the line gear, these men bringing happiness and safety to the people who come to party. Every single one of them know just how lucky they are to be here rather then in the realms of the Toxins or the Chimera. here they have shelter that isn't fit to be condemned. Food and clean water. Power and heat in their houses. Just need to owe their lives to the man at the top of the chain. And through him the men and women who run his empire.

It's on the block that's almost completely taken up by a building known as the Chance Arcology that we find ourselves. Home of the Lucky Chance Club and Entertainment center, as well as the Rollins Technological Academy and Labs. Second only to Adon Industries and A-Adon Incorporated. It's here that people are lining up to try and get into the Lucky Chance, and perhaps catch the eye of the Rollins family. Everyone knows that if Chance Sr. isn't in. Then his son the infamous wunderkind Chance Jr. will be. And when either or both of them are in attendance it can only be a party in the making.

As the line slowly makes it's way forward. A classic hover car drifts by. The license plate reading, "TkeAChnce". More then a few people know what this means. So it's not entirely a surprised as the line presses to the side of the building as a group of seven people walk by on the other side of the velvet rope. Nicky Sins, Victor "Vickie" Murns, Oswald Mornhold, three of the youngest and brightest minds in the Rollins Academy. Benji Tombs and "Sexy" Sid Forin, a little older then the rest, but still young in heart, members of the Advance Technology Division within the Rollins Labs. Timmy Tombs, the Robotics wunderkind, who came up with the basis for a mobile Gauss cannon platform. Each of them are a name onto themselves. Each of them dressed to the nines. Suits, gleaming leather, glittering gold, silver and chrome in the form of rings, necklaces and other bling. The six cluster around the seventh member of the group. Black and Silver pinstripe suit, silver and black fedora, glittering platinum watch and gleaming patent leather dress shoes. The line erupts as Chance stops to help one of his crew correct his suit lapel. After the lapel is fixed the other six take a moment to correct their own suits.

It's like watching a music video, just without the music and effects. Tritech Legends in the flesh. At the club! As Chance and his posse arrive at the head of the line. He takes off his fedora flashing the bouncer his premium membership talisman hidden inside it. Not because his father owned the place, but because he earned it through his own sweat and keen savvy. He tucks the hat back on his head. The bouncer opening the velvet rope for the seven. Rumbling out a low silk like, "Mr. Rollins, sir. Your father won't be in until much later. Your booth is ready though." Chance nods, "Thanks Billy." He looks into the group of people lined up all of them trying to get his attention. A dusky skinned woman about seven spaces back catching his eye, he leans over and whispers to Billy the Bouncer, "The dusky skinned one back there. Let her through in 5 minutes. ahead of the rest. On me, ask Jes to send her up to VIP for me would you?" Billy looked over Chance's shoulder then nods, "You got it sir. Have a good night now." Chance chuckles, "Oh I intend too. Come on." He waves his six crew members along with him and into the club.

It's interesting being brought up under the wing of a dragon is the saying. It's warmer then you think. But when the dragonling makes a name for himself then the dragon can only smile. And the Master above them all can only grin and watch. Waiting for great things indeed.

The Vibe
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZfpqOcAA7U
Another's Story

It stank like regurgitated swill and cheap sex, and a heavy blanket of smoke lay over the room. It was by no means an established facility or gambling house; and was barren with no furnishing bar a table and several dilapidated chairs of different styles. Longjohn sat opposite the mark, and to his right and left sat Paddy and Fitzroy respectively; Lupin had the door and watched over the room as normal. Cards were dealt and drinks were sipped, the mark oblivious to anything. He loved these thug wannabes, ghetto climbers who didn't understand the true nature of crime or it's subtlety, and this dreadlocked natty was no different.
"So, let's get started shall we lads?"
As the game progressed the mark kept his cool despite being nearly 1k under, and after several hours of playing he had no more money to give and was heavily in debt, which was no surprise considering how Longjohn was stacking the deck in his people's favour. At this point Lupin, a monster by any normal man's means, walked from his station by the door and placed a firm hand on the mark's shoulder. Longjohn, familiar with this next step, stood and turned his back to the table.
"So, I think you find yourself in a predicament here. No money, no assets, nothing of value to give. I'm a generous sort so if yo-"
"I still have one thing left to give."
His voice was dark. The sort of dark that transcends light or tone or noise; and the pitch was low, like a tectonic movement forcing pressure and splitting the earth. Longjohn raised an inquisitive eyebrow and peered over his shoulder.
"And just what might that be, friend?"
There was a low hiss that seemed to emenate from the mark's side of the table, and after it faded residually in a few seconds it was followed by a clang of glass and metal on the ground. Fitzroy picked up an object and displayed it in his open palm for the room. A heavy-duty pressure syringe, now empty.
"I can give you death."
The mark's skin, already scarred, strained and contorted. His eyes glazed over, losing nearly all of their white. He opened his mouth into a ferocious smile, and his teeth loosely dangled in his gums, dropping one-by-one onto the floor as ivory daggers pushed their way to the surface.
"Awww fuck no-"
Longjohn raced to the door and fumbled, desperately trying to force the key into the lock. Behind him, he could hear the cracking of bones shifting, the gasps of awe of his men, then the screaming came. Within seconds the room was silent, with the exception of the metronome drips of blood pooling on the floor.

-

Cassius gently pushed open the door, which now swung on only one hinge after the massacre, and stepped out into the filthy alleyway; half amalgamated from cast iron and clumsy brickwork. His body had reverted now to a slightly more human appearance, but he was still soaked in blood. He looked to both ends of the alley, and started to wander towards the bustle of the ghetto.

As the corpses in the stinking room now knew, Cassius Dwight did not play games.

A line from a film Tony saw some years back seems perfectly made for this place: 'One foot in the grave, the other sinking into the mud.' Half-dead, tired, and slowly going under.

Tony stares up at the ceiling from a cheap mattress with mostly clean sheets. He moved from a decent apartment to one bordering on the cheapest to keep the costs low enough without risking what little he has left. Peeking through the blinds are neon lights from local businesses of varying reputation. Makes it hard to sleep at night when regret and disgust aren't the cause instead.

This is what he gave up a decent life for? No one could predict the colony getting cut off like this. Eden is the perfect escape. A world - any world - he wants for a reasonable fee. He can forget his shitty apartment. He can forget how he got fired. He can even forget how the city's gone to shit in a handbasket. Then he gets dragged out of that wonderful piece of Heaven and back into this miserable Hell. It feels like Tony leaves a piece of his soul behind each time. Its a mystery what will happen when he's finally sucked dry. Maybe he'll die. Maybe he is already dead. Maybe the colony didn't get cut off but instead was blown up. Maybe Nino's in Hell. Sure feels like it and the difference between life and Eden makes it hurt all the more.

But dead or alive the world as governed by Tritech demands money.
Dead or alive there's still Tyre goons demanding another pound of flesh.
Dead or alive... he has to get up in the morning and do odd-jobs between his shifts at the Station.
Sleep, as usual these days for Nino, is agonizingly slow to come.

Day 90, 9pm

Somewhere off the coast of Central Island

Lights flash and flicker, a large boat bobs in the gentle waves of the small portion of the ocean that was caught between the three main islands. A submersible breaches the surface and opens hatch. A man steps out and is helped up onto the boat. "Is that it?" The man that held his arm asked. "It is. That's the container that we saw fall when the barriers went up." The man looked at the shipping crate, bent and burnt from its decent from the atmosphere but not destroyed. It wasn't even a fourth the size of their little boat. It was marked Food and Goods. "So that's it. That is the last of the supplies the city has left to live off of."

"Lord save us all."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrVMzDw7ncs

How easy it would have been to cause a little mayhem in this place, to shatter this false sense of security that was harboured by the addicts and the ignorant of Tyre district. Every time she came here it was the same, they seemed almost oblivious to the fall of their world, to the fact that only three months ago the entire planet had been bought to its knees in humiliation and subjugation to the unknown force that buzzed in Maya’s veins.

Their bright lights and their noise, it had been overwhelming for a long time, it had fallen so quiet Downtown, one could hear the crickets in the grass or the branches of the scattered trees weep in the night air. Back home the sound of the buildings groaning as the day came to an end and then again in the morning as they cracked and flexed, waking with the sun.

So quiet, so still, like a grave.

Of course, there was no jealousy, no, the silly little meat sacks and their lavish life style meant that soon enough there would not be enough to go around, money would run out, food would run out, electricity would blow out and then? Then they would be easy pickings for the Toxins, they would succumb to the power that ran in their veins and with an army that large, taking on the Chimera would be easy. Although, that didn’t seem to be what Maya wanted just yet, perhaps she still was considering an alliance with the Chimera? They had more in common together than they did with Tyre?

It hardly mattered of course, she was but an instrument of her boss and she had been given a task to do, with all the lights and the sense of safety that Tritech instilled in their citizens no one suspected a Toxin to walk among them, no one looked too long into the deep shadows thrown by the neon lights that lit every pavement.

Nestled in one of these dank, dark spots was Amala, her eyes trained on a certain club, run by a certain company, Lucky Chance. She had remained nestled with only a rat as her company for over an hour, watching the humans queue round the block for a chance to get into the building. A small smirk on her lips as she watched people push and pull and bicker among themselves, they were almost identical to the infected. Over the traffic and thumping music she heard mutters and gasps about the wonder boy himself, Chance Junior, and gossip and rumours about his father.

Eventually the rabid fans were whipped into a frenzy by a group of men, the vehicle they got out of –pretentious as it was- blocked her view of the fellows that stepped out. Shifting her position slightly she took the small, sliding camera from her pocket, forcing the flash off she readied herself for the shots she needed. When finally the crowds parted enough to showcase the chosen ones she snapped the pictures. All but one had slipped inside, this one she had heard was the son of the infamous Mr. Chance, lining up she took the shot and then she paused.

There was something familiar...something almost.

The clinking of crockery and the smell of roasted coffee beans permeated the small cafe, it wasn’t the biggest place, nor was it the best. Tucked in the corner of a quiet part of town, most business men would pop in here for a cup of something hot and strong before commuting to work, or indeed returning home for the night. The place was discrete and so were its workers, a nice quiet nook for those who knew how to find it.
“Hey Amala.” A dark blonde woman, forty if she was a day, beckoned her to the counter with a maternal smile, “Your regular is back, you want to take him his coffee?”
“My regular? Didn’t think we believed in claiming customers.”
“The others are a bit intimidated by him, he’s not very...friendly.” Amala giggled –she giggled?- and shook her head, taking the coffee cup and approaching the table. The man had large hands, it surprised her for some reason, they weren’t the hands of a man who had never worked a day in his life but by all accounts he had seemed....what did he seem? The newspaper he held was pulled open, covering his face from her view.

The rat hopped off the bin she’d been perched on and she was jolted from whatever that had been. The man had gone from sight. Watching her furry friend scurry away and out into the street Amala made a judgement call. She had overheard the bouncer say that Chance Snr wouldn’t be around for another hour, that was...unacceptable.

With a modicum of effort she slipped through the streets, hood pulled high and fingers clenched into a fist at her side. There was a reason she was asked to do this, of all her gang she was the one who most passed as human but above that, above all that...

A drunk, reeking of fermented hops and reeling around the street like a snake bumped into her, she bounced off of Amala’s chest and with a snicker befitting some kind of jackal threw her arms around Amala. She slurred something, something Amala could not hear as the rush of her blood demanded her into action. The drunk woman leaned up, reached for the hood all the time using Amala’s body for her support. Her blood screamed, it was so painful, every muscle burned with desire. Then a friend of the woman’s came, brushed her away and uttered apologies and the two slunk off.

... her blood didn’t have complete control of her.

Amala stopped biting her lip, a drop of blood beading and running down her chin as she released the breath she had held. It would be so easy, she could almost see it.

The woman would scream as she saw Amala’s eyes glow dark beneath the hood, she’d run but Amala would catch her, she’d pierce her heart with the blade she used and then she’d set the woman loose. They would come under attack, of course they would but she would be free to do what she wanted, she would be a force of destruction that few could defy in this soft part of town. When it was all done she would be there, blood would cover her and the shambling masses that had been so desperate to catch a glimpse at some rich boy would be her army, they would spread causing chaos and disorder as they went, rendering this false reality to dust. It was beautiful.

She shivered and put such thoughts out of her mind, when she returned home she’d have to find someone to work the fervent desire out with. Perhaps someone who didn’t deserve this gift, perhaps someone strong, who could take the damage she’d deal out and survive it. Rolling her shoulders she continued through the shadows, heading to the back of the Lucky Chance. The service door was open a crack, likely someone had taken a break and forgotten to shut it behind them. Lowering her hood and tying back her hair she slipped out of her coat and hung it on a dumpster by the door. Then carefully she slipped inside.

It took a good half an hour to get through the corridors and to the doors that lead to the toilets, having to avoid being spotted and blend in. Though finally she made it out onto the floor, the lights inside were worse, the noise of the people reminded her of locusts and was only drowned out by the thumping music, the bass felt through the soles of her shoes. Many of the people were on the floor, dancing –or she assumed it was dancing- and drinking. It would be so very easy, her blood called to her, caged in here like animals she could turn a dozen of them before anyone noticed. She bit her lip again, she had at least twenty minutes to go before Chance Senior arrived, she’d have to find a way to kill some time.

The bar seemed a safe bet, it was also the best way to get information, making her way through the bodies of people was not an issue. Whether by obvious intent or subconscious desire people moved from her, like fish might move from a shark amongst its shoal. Effortless she slipped up to the bar and found herself leaning against it. She listened to the voices around her for anything of importance, the bar tender briefly getting her attention by pressing a cold glass of something toxic green into her hand and gesturing down to the other end of the bar.

There was a dead silence, thick and heavy within the church as the two watched each other. One, quivering with fear, the prey. The other pulsing with the rush of adrenaline, hunter. The girl’s terror was palpable, Mikhael breathed in deeply, feeling as if he could taste it. Perhaps he could. He stepped forward, taking a knee as his body loomed over her. He had been so lost in the moment, what had she said? It was important, to let the victim talk. To let their dread mount to insurmountable heights before it collapsed down completely. The look on a person’s face once they’ve accepted death, that’s what he was craving at this moment.

‘Why are you doing this?’ the words floated across the surface of his memory. That’s what she had said. He sighed, his livid green eyes boring into hers, causing her to lock up as if the blood inside of her had frozen from his gaze.

”It’s always the same thing with you people; ‘Why are you doing this’; ‘You don’t have to do this’; ‘Please stop killing me’,” he answered with a laugh. The woman beneath him recoiled from the heat of his breath, from the stench of toxic decay that circulated through his veins. He sneered, leaning in closer, taking in every aspect of his apparent victim.

“W-wa-” She began, but he silenced her by pressing the tip of his malformed finger, a claw really, to her lips.

”You look so lovely, you know that?” He cooed, almost endearingly, ”You’re close are clean, your hair is brushed and.. Is that lip gloss?” He trailed the metallic appendage across her cheek, the same kind of gesture a lover would make.

“I-I-I-” She quivered, but he hushed her again.

”The world is falling apart outside and somehow you still found time to do you makeup? People are literally being cut down in the street, and yet you don’t look as if you’ve suffered at all. Did you not think it strange? How I managed to force my way into your sanctum, your retreat? You have the door barred after all, preventing people the convert of dying within the steeple of their faith, and yet, I am the cruel one?!” He laughed, a sound of broken madness spewing from his throat.

”Let’s take a walk shall we?” He suggested, though she didn’t really have a choice. He wrapped his hand around her head, his talons digging painfully into the back of her scalp as he dragged her halfway to her feet. He made way towards a side door that likely led out into a hallway, taking care to step over the broken remains of the pews from happier times. A cry of pain let the world know that he hadn’t taken such care for her as her half limp body was dragged across the wreckage carelessly.

Down the hall they went, her scrabbling for purchase and continually failing to stand properly. His shoes slapped against the linoleum loudly, giving voice to the purpose of his strides. He considered the doors he passed, mentally calculating nothing in particular.
”How about.. This one!” He declared, punctuating his words as her hurled the woman like a sack of rocks. She grunted as she collided with the door, blasting through it and and crashing into a table in the room. Her momentum didn’t stop there as the table screeched, sliding back until it slammed into the wall. She rebounded, rolling across the surface and finally stopping face down on the floor.

Mikhael stepped through the ruined doorway, noticing that there seemed to be nothing quite out of order with this room. It looked rather unused, he trailed his fingers across the surface of a counter, noticing the layer of dust.

”Well, I guess I was wrong, shall we play again?” He asked, ignoring her cries and whimpers as lifted her by the back of her neck, his claws leaving deep furrows across her shoulders and collarbone. He stepped back out into the hall and walked down a bit more before choosing another door.

”How about this one?” He pondered, though the only response from her was something akin to a wailing groan, ”Huh, not very talkative are we?”

He cocked his arm back, leveraging her like a battering ram before sending her through another door. She screamed as she slammed into it, hurtling into the room. This one appeared to be a study of some sort, with a now broken desk and a bookshelf full of dusty looking tomes. Her pursed his lips, taking hold of her ankle.

”There doesn’t seem to be anybody else here, is it just you? Shame, I bet if you had tried helping some people they might have tried to save you,” Mikhael said with a shrug, dragging her back out into the hall.

He was really considering which room to pick next, he didn’t want to strike out, when something odd wafted through the air. He gave a sniff, slightly confused by the smell, before her placed it.

”Smells like somebody was having breakfast,” he noted, ”And you didn’t think to save any for me?”

He let her go as he slashed through the door in a clean swipe. Almost clean, there were heavy gouges in the walls to either side, but the door still collapsed in on itself in three pieces. Sure enough, the room beyond was littered with womanly apparel and obvious signs of somebody living there. There was a small space off towards one side of the room where the carpet had been pulled away and the smoldering remains of a small campfire sat beneath a vent with a pillow taped over it.

”Wow, that’s actually pretty smart. Don’t want anybody else smelling this huh?” He remarked, looking over his shoulder, past suitcases and trunks and small stores of food towards the hall where the woman was, or should have been.
”Ah..” He started, kicking the debris of the door out of his way as he walked back into the hall, ”Silly me, they always run.”

He pressed his human hand to his face as his body reeled backwards with a cackle, ”I love it when they run.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The sky had darkened by the time Mikhael began to grow bored. She was quite a runner, but there was no chance a regular old human could compete against Mikhael. He had taken to the tops of buildings when he could, using his hand to rend through the metal and vault himself upwards rather easily. It was faster than climbing anyways. She had run through the streets, frantically. She seemed pretty athletic, and she was very clever. Here and there she had run into other toxins, those of the more bestial variety, and yet here she was, still alive. Turns out she had a knife hidden within the lower leg of her jeans, and she could use it pretty well.

Mikhael laughed, watching the darkened figure dash indoors. He wondered if this was a random home, or if it had belonged to her. If so, it was quite a ways away from where she had been. He figured they were at least close to the south eastern end of the island. He could see the skylines off in the distance, and faintly those of the other territories. Briefly he wondered what it was like over there, he hadn’t anything really specific but he had learned basically what was happening over there. He should find a way across to the Chimera side of things, it could definitely be more fun than hunting the frail game that inhabited his neck of the woods.

He dropped down to the street quietly, careful not to excite the few toxins he could make out beneath the sturdy lampposts lining the way. It was a wonder they still worked, nothing like good ol’ emergency power. He stalked across to where he had seen the woman enter and tried the door tentatively. It was locked. He wasn’t surprised.

He was about to smash his way in when he felt a presence touch his mind. It took him off guard at first, mental communication wasn’t something you got used to very fast, and he was still a recent crossover. He concentrated, trying not to let his thoughts scattered to much as the presence probed. He reached out, cringing slightly as he connected to what felt like a more primitive mind. The fire in his blood surged, overwhelmed with the mind numbing madness of the toxin. He fought not to lose himself, battling against such primal urges was not something that came to him easily. It threatened to pull him under, to force his mind to succumb and become fully enveloped in rage and hunger.

“Boat… Central… Land.. People” the other mind croaked. Mikhael closed his eyes, fighting the rolling wave of such raw, base needs as he reached out. When this had first happened to him, he thought he really must have been insane. This kind of thing was something you really only heard about in stories, or tricks illusionists and magicians pulled on you.

A mental image appeared in his mind, like smokey water as he looked through the creature's eyes. He could only manage it for a handful of second, he wouldn’t be able to resist whatever change was trying to force itself on him for very long. He took in the scene quickly. The toxin was standing on a walk next to the harbor, looking out towards the smallest of the four islands, where a large boat rocked from where it was moored in the water. There was another craft next to it, though from the look it was probably something that traveled beneath the water. He saw shadows moving on the deck of the ship before the pressure in his mind began to press around him like a vice.

He severed the link immediately, panting slightly as he regained his bearings. He had broken out into a cold sweat, and a chill slowly crawled up his spine. Still, the simpler toxins weren’t completely useless. He wondered what it was that made them reach out to him, did he have a strong presence or something? Was it because he managed to keep his mind relatively intact, the uniqueness of his mutation? Thoughts for another day he supposed, turning back to the task at hand.

It was high time he finished up here and went to check out the boat. Most ventures brought to his attention weren’t a complete waste of time. The thought struck him as he flexed his malformed hand, perhaps the other toxins were acting off of some sort of residual command communicated from Maya. He’d have to remember to ask her next time her saw her.

The door squealed as his hand bored through it, shearing and twisting the metal, ”Honey! I’m Home!”

It was a fair bit later that the atmosphere in the club changes a little. It's not the front door that opens though. It's a side door that leads into the Rollins Acrology itself. He's not dressed quite as to the nines as his son. Who has stood up and is watching him from the VIP balcony. Chance Rollins Sr. is a grizzled looking man. Burly and still powerful even in his early sixties. A basic black tuxedo, with a white frilled under shirt. His black trousers over gleaming leather shoes. He carries a designer made slate grey bowler in hand. He looks around the club with a soft hrm, looking at all the young and middle aged well to do in the club. Giving everyone a nod. He then looks up at the VIP balcony. Locking eyes with his son. Chance nods in greeting to the older man. Chance Sr nods slowly then with a gesture the atmosphere seems to pick back up.

Chance Sr. takes the steps up to the VIP Balcony carefully, with an almost stately pace. When he gets up there. Chance Jr's friends have all gotten up and are standing off to the side, looking like an entourage of gaurds rather then Jr's friends. Chance Sr. takes a seat and is soon joined by his son, sitting across from each other on matching armchairs. Sr. places his hat on the table between them and sighs, "Business before pleasure." He looks to the side at the dusky skinned lady who is sitting just behind Chance Jr, "Another one son? Good choice though. Anyway. Reports." Chance Jr. takes a series of folders from a leather case one of Jr's friends hands to him. Each of them being a bi weekly report on how their departments and projects have been going. The conversation that the two Chance get into is horribly technical. Outlining how each department and project is going.

After abit Chance Sr. leans back and nods, "Well done. All of you. Son, I want you to come and see me in the morning. There's something I want to discuss. But for the rest of the night. Let's get down." He waves to the bartender down on the floor who nods and gets the customary wine, champagne and other drinks ready for the Chance and Company group. The six members of Chance Jr's little group find places in the VIP lounge to sit down, begin to talk and socialize with others up there. Chance Jr. sighs and relaxes. nothing better then having a Dragon say you've done a good job. As he sits with the pretty dusky skinned woman leaning on his chest he looks out over the club. And for just a second or two his eyes stopping on a woman down there in the throngs. For a moment she looks familar. Someone who used to be a casual friend. But as the movement of the other club goers is. He loses sight of her after abit. His attention turned back to his father and his friends.

Day 91, 4:36am

Somewhere in deep space



Lights flicker on a small space craft as it scans the ruins of a large vessel. Two people drift from the small craft to the larger one and enter through a tear in the hull. "Do you think we'll find anything?" One of them said to the other. "If I didn't, we wouldn't be looking would we?"

The first person shook their head, "Yeah I suppose. Sorry, haven't been sleeping well lately." They both continued pulling themselves forward, drifting through the hollow ship. "I don't blame you. When everything and everyone you know suddenly cease to exist, I find it hard to sleep too."

There was an eery silence. Any possible sound lost in the vacuum of space. The one taking lead, a white man in his fourties with a balding head, looked at a device on his wrist, "Nothing picking up on my scanner so far. This ship might be a bust after all." They grabbed the frame of a doorway one after another and thrusted themselves forward into the next room. "Wait I'm picking something up on my scanner." The woman behind him said. She was of Asian decent with short black hair that without the restriction of the helmet, would curl around her head at an angle towards her chin. "What is it, some supplies? We could use some fuel right now." The woman shook her head, "No. It's not that it's..." The man looked back, "What is it?"

She looked up, the light inside her helmet showing her look of shock and disbelief across her face. "It's life." Then a look of terror spread across her face, "LOOK OUT!" The man threw his arms up forward out of instinct but the moment he turned his attention forward something pierced through the visor of his helmet. He grabbed onto the object and kicked his feet forward. Standing in an upright position being held in space by the object holding his helm and the lack of gravity. He took deep breaths, sweat pouring down his face. "I'm okay, whatever pierced my visor must be blocking the hole." His lights were out from the damage, he made careful attempts to smack the helmet just enough to try and get the lights to return without pushing forward into whatever object was mere centimeters from his face.

"Come on, come on, damn you. Work!" As he shouted and gave one last hit, the lights cut on revealing what was protruding into his helmet. "Is that...stone?" The stalactite-like stone began to flicker and glow a bright orange. "Crystal?!" He exclaimed in horror, as soon as he did the crystal pushed forward in a jolt and went through his mouth and out the back of his helmet. The woman screamed, "AGGGHHHHH!!!!" She turned and made a desperate attempt to get back to their ship. Bouncing across walls pushing herself forward. She felts pains all across her. that's when she realized something decorating the ships interior. Little shards of crystal. They hadn't noticed before because it was inactive and blended in with the metal. Now it was bright and alive. In her attempt to escape she had doomed herself. Little cuts were throughout her suit. Oxygen levels were depleting, and a burning and draining sensation spread throughout her body. Through her arms, up her stomach, she clenched at her chest. Her heart was racing, pounding, it felt like her heart was going to explode!

The ship lights flickered. The hole of the vessel reflecting back the light as it cut on and off. Then slowly, only seen between the flashes of light, a suit drifted. It's limbs limp. She and her partner had joined the trillions dead. Another body in space.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YAcMgoSpDE&index=12&list=PL4YxW8HuhzZK4JAsuofq-LbomMkhse0J2

Amala.
It was time well spent, the bar chat centred around the family business, there was talk of projects, of sickness, health, corruption. Everything you expected from a bar full of drunks and soon-to-be-drunks, it was the reaction of the bar tender she gauged from behind her poison green drink. When he looked away, when he seemed unsettled, those were the rumours she knew would be true, the ones she scoffed at, or smiled to in that kindly way, that was the lies.

Soon enough them an of the hour made his entrance and the world came to a stand still, it was funny to watch the power the man commanded, he strode with the purpose of a King and commanded the room like a General. She finished her drink and placed the glass back on the table during the hush of the room. With a gesture the room erupted back into life and she couldn't help but laugh heartily. No, not so different were they?

She had been ignoring it for some time, the feel of the gnawing at the back of her mind, she'd put it down to all these prime writhing bodies but it was getting stronger now, becoming an incessant tug on her mental reserves. She'd taken her photo's of the King of the Club, of the Prince and his squires, it was time for her to retire back to her own piece of the kingdom, where the monsters roamed in the dark and exuded their will on others.

Standing from the bar she nearly lost her balance and caught herself on the bars edge. It buzzed with a deafening bass that far outweighed that of the music, like a heart. Her eyes flashed once and she raised them, scanning the crowd for the suspect. It was raw, feral, powerful, it was destruction for the sake of destruction. It was insane. And it was in the club. She steeled herself to its clumsy attempt at mental domination and while she fought back it was not going to submit, it was far too insane to begin to understand the idea of submission. So she only had one choice, Maya would not want a war to break out because of one clumsy creation.

There was a scream and flashing green's flickered to the spot. A predatory response, like a lamb to the slaughterhouse, every sense burned with the fear and adrenaline in the victim. No, not victim, it couldn't be a victim, not here. Getting her feet she took a breath to steady her mind and her body and then she shifted. Others were strong, or they could take a beating, she was fast. Before the scream finished she had -with hood pulled up- barrelled into the would be attacker, whose own dark purpose had been hidden in the shadows of the club, the momentum caught and dragged the unsuspecting one with her, they hit the door which opened, Amala switched her stance and pulled the toxin across the street - flashing a universal 'this guy' look at the bewildered bouncer - and into the alley.

The guy -because even in the dark it was easy to see it was a man - hit the wall, bounced and collapsed to his knees laughing. She honestly had no idea why Maya kept these ones. The guy, six feet, naturally lean but enhanced with definition and packed muscles since his turn until he looked almost like a visual representation of Frankenstein's monster from that old time book, had green eyes but they hadn't taken on the 'supernatural' sheen and sweaty, limp hair that stuck to his face. Heaven knew whose clothes he wore but unless he'd always been into pink and ponies, they weren't his clothes. In fact, now she was out here she could smell the blood and decay on him.

Many didn't survive the turn into one of their darling little drones and some, some they didn't deserve to. She didn't know who had turned this one but whoever it was should have killed him. The madness was almost overwhelming and the fella stood, swayed and charged at her like a bull cornered. Now she was away from the food she attempted to dominate the thing before her, she had quite a strong will, it's how she controlled some of the horde back 'home', it made up for her lack of physical prowess, willpower was her super weapon. Briefly he stopped, hesitated and snarled.

She heard a scream, but it was nowhere from here, it was far away and her attention was snapped skyward as every hair on her body stood on end in protest. Had she really heard that? If she had what was that? What was the presence that brushed against her?

The break in concentration let her opponent shake loose of her control and he hit her square in the chest with his head, his arms scrabbling for purchase in her skin. Let Maya say I didn't try. She resigned herself to the poor miserable creatures fate, catching one of his hands and ducking down and out of the way of the thrice damned beast. She briefly looked across the road, a few people were looking over but none seemed overly concerned with the ruckus in the shadows.

The man broke from her grasp easy enough, she stepped back but felt the wall to her back and she damned the tight confines of the chosen battleground. The feral turned and charged again and she waited, when he was close enough to see the blood patterns on rainbow dash she side stepped out the way and let the guy collide head first with the wall. He slumped a moment but stood, reeled with bloodied face and broken nose and he laughed again. His mind rasped primitive words aimed at her own but she ignored them as one would ignore the inane ramblings of a doomsayer.

The 'fight' if one could call it that, lasted only a few minutes, Amala using her speed to allow the moron to do damage to himself until finally he was slow enough to get behind and end it. He was surprisingly heavy but of course leaving bodies behind was not something she intended to do. With effort she arranged him on his shoulders and made her way back towards the central bridges where the tunnel between the Toxin's zone and her own awaited. Maybe she'd throw him in the bay, she didn't particularly want to drag him all the way home. What would she do with him then anyway? Sure the hoard might find some use for him but really?

Before long she found herself close to the waters edge, checking for any nearby witnesses -and seeing none- she effortlessly severed his head from his shoulders and kicked the body into the water. As the ripples spread out she cast her eyes out to the darkness and saw shapes bobbing in the water.

Early morning, Lucky Chance Club

Only the dregs remained. Even the bartender had gone home. Chance the Younger's had bowed out and headed higher up into the arcology to catch some rest before heading into work tomorrow. Most of the club-goers had headed home to their apartments, flats and studios. The only two remaining who actually mattered. Are Father and Son. Chance Sr. and Chance Jr. Both still wide awake for the most part, used to late nights and early days. They'd catch some rest later on in the day. The two leaned over a table together. Chance with an unactivated e-cig between his lips. Chance Sr. with a bottle of water at hand. They weren't as drunk as you might think really. Jr. had drank ginger ale most of the night. To keep his wits about him, and Chance Sr. had only two glasses of wine along with a full meal to play off the alcohol. So the pair are actually fairly sober as they sit in mutually respectful silence of the club.

After awhile Chance Sr. lets out a soft sigh, "I was going to tell you later son. But now is as good a time as any. You're a prospect in Tyre, and one of our rising stars in Tritech. So I spoke with your uncle, Abe. And he agrees with me, we're going to deal you into the business. There's a location, down by the Viroci Canal. You may have been there with your old friend Daniel Viroci? Of Viro Medical? Yeah him. Anyway. His mother Amelie Viroci, has brokered a turn around within the family. The Rollins Family gets a small amount of land, for the payment of a Eden Station at the south end of our Acrology location here. So it's more or less a straight up trade. Right now it's an empty lot. But your Uncle is willing to foot the bill for your first two upgrades to the location. And only the first two. Afterward, it's all out of your pocket. You know the deal here son. We all pay our way through. You'll be given a 2 month lee way period, but after that you'll be paying up the line. What you make of the location is up to you."

Chance Jr.'s eyebrows by now were trying to burrow into the fringe of his close cut hair, "You're serious here Dad?" He sounded a little iffy about the whole thing in the end really. Nothing in the Tyre Mafia comes without a price. Everyone knew that who had some connection to it. Rollins Senior nods slowly, "Yes son. Come on up to Management after Lunch. We'll draw everything up. Get Pulse is on over to Amelie, get her to sign off on it, then get Abe to sign as well." Chance nodded slowly, "Alright...thanks Dad. I'll do my best to make you proud." Rollins Sr. smiled, "You do that already son. You do that already." He stood up with a groan, "Ahhh...I'm going to head over to the Academy check in on the All Nighters in the Dream Machines. Go get a little rest. And think about what you want to set up." Chance Rollins Sr. picked up his bowler and headed off for the lifts to take him higher into the Arcology. Chance Jr. grinned brightly. Plans within plans. That's what you got to do, and he could do so much more now.