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    1. Archangel2125 11 yrs ago

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@EWillden

I know you said that anything seen now would be in a museum but I'm wondering what we're looking at in terms of car technology. Are we flying or are we still wheeled? Do they both still exist and flying cars are available to the rich and wheeled ones are slowly being phased out?
@EWillden

I'd say cap it at 6. But that's because I always got stuck doing all the work in group projects in school. Depends on what you're comfortable with running.
The pounding bass of the club could be heard behind the sealed door, thrumming in Leon's ears. He and 12 other men, all wearing balaclavas, stood at the ready in a dimly lit employee hallway, waiting for their mark to enter. They worked for Hyperion Red Security and were members of the Emergency VIP Extraction & Protection unit, or EVIPEP.

"Everyone remember their role?" Leon asked, turning to look at his team. As always there were no questions or objections. He turned back around to face the door, his eyes flashing bright green. The blackness in the room he stood in quickly changed to a light gray as his eyes enhanced the illumination. "NVG's on. Team 2 are you in position?" He asked. Three computerized beeps replied. "Prepare to enter." He placed his boot on the synth-wood door and grabbed the metallic handle. There was a vibration in his ear and he moved forward quickly, twisting the handle and putting his weight into the movement and pushing the door open.

The flashing lights made Leon wince for a moment as his eyes quickly adjusted to the added brightness. The music, which was basically a form of blaring techno-trash, completely deafened the sound of the door slamming on the adjacent wall. He entered onto a circular balcony with an open middle - like a doughnut - looking down on the dance floor below. As they had been trained to do, the 12 men at his back split, six and six, and started their way around the balcony, keeping low to stay out of sight.

Leon shouldered his rifle and scanned for threats. The club had been mostly evacuated of civilians, but there could always be stragglers. And unnecessary casualties weren’t how Leon worked. He spotted two human figures directly across from him on the other side; they didn't seem to notice him or his men. He pressed a small button on his rifle, close to the end of his foregrip, with his left index finger and the two men were illuminated by invisible red outlines.

"Contact twelve o' clock. Two men. They're armed. Take them quietly." Leon said into his comm-headset.

Simultaneously, two shots were fired. Both rounds impacted at the exact same time and resulted in the same effect; two neutralized threats. Leon moved quickly around the left side of the balcony, checking individual booths for both threats and civilians. His team split again, this time into six two-man teams, and began clearing the upper level. Leon didn't like doing this but with the amount of exits and contact points for threats it was necessary.

He stacked up in front of a door directly across from the one they had all entered in with two other team members. “Breach and clear on my go.” He said calmly. The two team members nodded with approval. “Ready…”

“Go!”




The team exited out the front door quickly, VIP secured and safe; Leon in the lead. Police cars and strategic response units at the ready. The police screamed at them to put their weapons down and get on the ground. Just as things might have escalated, a Hyperion Red personnel carrier swooped overhead and hovered between Leon’s team and the police. A female voice boomed out over a loudspeaker mounted on the craft.

“Stand down! We are with Hyperion Red Security, a subsidiary of the United Science Division! You will lower your weapons and allow our employee’s to exit. We are not a hostile force!”

“Move!” Leon bellowed out and they began to move towards the slowly descending aircraft. “Becca, don’t land just hover, we’ll jump on!” He said over the comm-headset.

“Roger that. Maintaining altitude of 10 meters. You sure you don’t want me lower?” She responded.

Leon made a hand gesture to his men, signaling his intentions. Additional blood pumped to his leg muscles and he felt the synth-muscle in his calves, thighs, and glutes, expand and contract. While in a light jog, he dropped into a lunge position and sprang upwards, easily clearing the 10 meters and touching his boots to the metal decking.

“10 meters is fine.” He called up to the cabin, a small smirk on his face.

“Confident aren’t you?” Becca replied, leaning back to look at Leon, her fire red hair struggling to keep itself under her flight helmet.

His team followed in behind him, VIP in hand.

“Jack, how’s the package?” He asked the member carrying the VIP.

Jack ripped his balaclava off, revealing a young face and platinum blond hair. “Vital signs are good, sir. He’s going to have one hell of a hangover when he wakes up though; alcohol and sedative don’t mix so well.”

Leon nodded. “I think he’ll be okay with a hangover from hell to being dead any day of the week.” He responded as the last member of the team entered the vehicle and hit the button to close the cargo door. “Becca we’re good to go. Let’s head home.” He said, leaning back in the chair.

The aircraft hummed loudly and shook as it gained altitude, flying back to the HRS building. The lights dimmed for a moment but were suddenly replaced by blazing red security lighting. Leon pulled his balaclava off his head and dropped it in his lap, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Good work today, boys. Damn good work.” He said loudly, trying to be heard over the sound of the engines.




Once Leon and his crew were debriefed, he took a shower. He dressed himself in his three-piece suit that he always wore when he was in his office and sat down at his desk; it was his responsibility to do up an after action report after each contract they went out on. His office was very spacious, easily being 25 feet by 25 feet. Despite its size there was very little in it aside from a large work desk, a bookcase, and two modern couches and a small table in the corner. The most extravagant feature was the large ornate chandelier that hung from the ceiling. It was functional and minimalist and that’s all Leon needed. It was located just past the middle of the building and featured a massive glass window, easily 15 feet high, that overlooked the building’s lobby.

He had just about finished the report and about to send it off when his in-office phone beeped. Leon pressed a button on his desk and answered the call. “Commander Miller’s Office.”

“Leon. It’s Johnathan. Come up and see me please.”

“Yes, sir. On my way.”

Leon ended the call and practically jumped out of his chair. Johnathan Brooks was the CEO and President of Hyperion Red. He was the person Leon had to thank for giving him his life back. He was also someone that you didn’t keep waiting. He fast walked over to the elevator and hit the highest button on the board. The doors closed and his knees flexed as the velocity of the elevator hit him.

Leon meticulously went over everything that had happened on the contract that he could remember and nothing seemed out of place, so it couldn’t have anything to do with that. Could it? Everything about his recent and previous performance was near perfect so it couldn’t be a bad meeting and Leon knew that he wasn’t prepared to fire him because they had just accepted a huge workload from USD. What could it be?

The elevator dinged and the doors swished open, opening up to a hallway, about 20 or so feet, that led to a single door. Brooks’ office was the only one of this level. Leon began a trek that felt like it took forever. He clenched his fists and opened the door.

Johnathan Brooks was an older gentleman, around 50 or so, but he kept himself in incredible shape. He had short grey hair, blue eyes, and a gray beard that was closely cropped to his square jaw.

His desk was on a small riser, having to go up three or four stairs to reach it. “Commander Miller,” he said, standing from his desk, “come in. I’ll be right down. Have a seat.”

Leon closed the distance quickly; Brooks’ office was huge. 40-foot-high vaulted ceilings, a huge glass window that looked out onto the cityscape of Mars, beautiful synth-wood flooring, and a lounge area tucked away in the corner of the office. There was a hidden door, one that Leon had learned about through Brooks himself, that led out onto a retractable heli-platform for emergency exits.

Leon sat down on the couch facing Brooks. “You asked for me sir?” He asked.

Brooks walked down the stairs and towards Leon. “What do you know about the recent uprisings that have been happening around the city?”

Leon furrowed his brow, shrugging his mouth. “They’re caused by criminals, people not happy with how the system is run. They’re similar to the Wage Riots of 2025.”

“And you are very familiar with those aren’t you?”

Leon grimaced. “Unfortunately. But without the events transpiring the way they did, I wouldn’t be here today.” He finished strongly.

Brooks chuckled. “That’s true. What if I told you that the uprisings are not just about wages? Or discrimination. Or anything…human.”

“Sir?” Leon responded quizzically.

“Something has come down the chain from someone even higher than me. Someone from USD has passed along information that I am now passing along to you. What do you know about Section 8?” Brooks said, standing from his chair and moving towards a raised, circular table. Leon followed.

“Black Ops stuff, sir. It’s all covered in red tape and shadow. I’ve heard rumors though, from the employees.” Leon replied, walking towards Brooks.

“And? What are the rumors telling you?”

“They deal with things that aren’t normal. They’re a special task force that nobody knows about. Like I said before, sir, they’re Special Ops. That’s all I’ve heard.”

Brooks typed a few commands into the computer and a holo-screen appeared, displaying a portrait of a woman. She was probably the same age as Leon and a little bit taller. Being a cyborg himself, he could tell that she was the same way. “This is Hotaru Utada Usanagi. She is a member of Section 8. Myself and the, let’s just call them ‘the powers that be’, have arranged a meeting between the two of you.”

Leon looked from the picture to Brooks. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” He asked.

“You can always speak freely with me, Leon.” Brooks responded.

“I know I’m single but this seems like a pretty elaborate way to get me to go on a date isn’t it?” Leon said, his voice holding no humor.

Brooks leaned on the computer, his face illuminated by the blue glow of the machine. “I’m being serious. We are potentially facing something that is larger than any of us can even imagine.” He said, Brooks understood humor about as well as Leon did. “They’re looking for members to join their task force and I put your name forward.”

“What? Am I being let go?” Leon said, his mind started to race; it was one of the rare times that he was flustered.

Brooks shook his head. “Section 8 is a USD controlled group. And since 80% of Hyperion Red Securities is owned by USD, I’m technically promoting you.” Brooks pulled a tablet from underneath the computer they were standing beside. “You’ll still have your office, and you’ll still technically be employed by HRS, but you’ll operate with them. Your yearly salary will triple as well.”

Leon stood slack-jawed. “I…uhh…” He cleared his throat; he was certainly taken aback by this change of events. “EVIPEP. What about my men?”

“You’ll have to choose a replacement. Your pick.” Brooks smiled.

This strange deal was sounding more and more interesting and that was before he even factored in the money. Leon looked at the tablet in Brooks’ hand, his mind racing a mile a minute. This was one of those decisions that only came once in a lifetime. He took a deep breath.

“What do you need from me?” He asked.

Brooks held out the tablet, the screen glowing to life. “All I need is a handprint.”

Leon’s nose twitched, something it hadn’t done since the reconstruction. This was a good sign. He looked up at Brooks, striking a pose and saluting. He smiled.

“Right or left?”




Leon, freshly promoted, strode down the extended hallway to the elevator. He pulled his portable comm-set out of his jacket pocket, punching in the contact info that Brooks had supplied him with.

“Agent Usanagi? This is Commander Leonhard Miller of the Emergency VIP Extraction & Protection unit at Hyperion Red Security. I’m told you have a job for me.” He finished as the elevator doors closed in front of him.
@EWillden

It's past midnight here and I have to be up early for work. I will post IC tomorrow sometime.
@EWillden

The sheet is up. Anything that needs to be changed will be. Gimme some feedback and I'll get right on it!
Name: Leonhard “Leon” Miller




Gender/Race: Male - Cyborg


Age: 29


Height: 5’11


Weight: 190lbs


Hair: Light Brown


Eyes: Green(Normal)/Bright Green(Night-Vision)/Ice Blue(Binocular Vision)/Red(Thermal Vision)


Nationality: British/Canadian/German/Ukrainian


Occupation: Private Security Consultant & Cyber-Security Advisor








If you're still accepting I'd love to join in. This looks awesome.
So by remaking the Marvel Universe could we essentially change genders, alignments, race. That sort of thing? So make Captain America an evil, latino-american, female for example? Not saying I'm going to do that though. Captain America = not my favorite superhero...
It was never this bad. He was never hurt this bad. He could always stop it. Was he off his game today?

Seven ducked the sword that would have taken his head off, countered with a staff strike of his own. His bald headed opponent snarled loudly and deflected the wooden staff off to the side, throwing Seven off balance. He rolled to avoid what came next but wasn’t fast enough. The cold metal of the sword cut deep into his back, severing muscle; he felt it hit his spine. Dark red blood stained the floor of the pure white room. Seven collapsed, gasping in pain. He rolled onto his back, staring up at his attacker.

The bald man, not much older than he was, cleaned the sword on his sleeve, staining the white fabric red. He grinned as he raised the sword above his head, about to bury it in Seven’s chest.

Seven’s eyes flashed white, sending the man flying backwards into the wall. His body lifted off the ground and hovered several feet in the air. Blood trickled off his toes and began to pool beneath him. He raised his hand, almost as if he was letting a small person stand in his hands. The body of the bald man raised off the ground, his arms stretched out at his sides. His body began floating closer.

The bald man grimaced, his arms and legs stretched further. He cried out in pain, a loud popping noise; his shoulder separating.

“Seven.” A voice said, seemingly out of nowhere. “That’s enough, let him go.”

Seven dropped the man to the floor. His body crumpled as he whimpered in pain, clutching his shoulder.

“Fifteen,” the voice addressed the bald man, “can you stand?”

The bald man nodded his head silently as he stood. He stared up at Seven still floating. Seven did not return the look.

“Fifteen, exit the room and allow the guards to escort you to the infirmary.” The voice said.

Fifteen limped to the door and it ‘whooshed’ open, revealing a well-lit, grey, metal hallway. The door closed behind him.

Seven watched him leave, slowly touching down on the ground. His feet landed in the pool of blood that still cascaded from the wound in his back and down his leg; it was still warm. He looked up at one of the walls, almost as if he was looking through it.

The white wash of the wall shimmered away, revealing a thick glass window; two figures stood behind it. One was a man, early thirties, muscular build, his black hair parted down the middle and rested just below his ears. The other figure was a woman, appeared to be early twenties, thin build and long blonde hair. The woman leaned forward and pressed a button.

“Seven, exit the room and let the guards escort you to the infirmary. You need to get that gash on your back treated.” She had an accent, but he couldn’t place where it was from.

Seven spoke. “It’s superficial. I’m fine.” He said monotonously. He watched as the woman’s mouth dropped open. He caught a brief grin on the man’s face.

“Do NOT question me!” She ordered. “You WILL go to the infirmary and you WILL get your wound treated. Am I clear!?” She snapped.

Seven flinched at her response, but not enough so it was noticeable. He was like an animal being scolded. It was true though, that’s what he was: just an animal.

“I understand.” Seven stated, turning on his heel and walking towards the exit, the door making the same ‘whoosh’ noise it did before. Out in the hallway, two guards approached him. One of them held in his hand what looked like a metal dog collar. Seven leaned his head forward, opening his neck for the guard.

The guard slapped the collar roughly on Seven’s neck; it closed with a loud clicking noise. Dozens of little needles stabbed him in a circle around his neck, injecting him with all kinds of chemicals. Seven winced at the feeling of muscle relaxants and blood clotting agents flooded his system. He felt his legs grown weak and his eyes rolled in the back of his head.

The last thing he remembered was losing his footing and falling forward towards the cold, hard, ground.

--

Seven’s eyes shot open, instinctively he reached for the dagger he always kept by his ankle. It wasn’t there. He realized he was on a bed and he rolled off and onto the floor, dropping into a defensive stance.

“Seven, relax.” A female voice said. He recognized it quickly.

“Nineteen, why am I back in our room?” Seven said, relaxing slightly.

Nineteen was slightly older than he was, around 20 years old. She had long blonde hair and blue eyes and, like everyone on the Shinryu, was incredibly fit. She lay on the top bunk of their bed reading a book; from what Seven could tell, it was a textbook. She was very intelligent, too.

She glanced up from her book and smiled. “They fixed you up, I’m impressed.” She said. “Fixed you up in under an hour. They drug you?”

Seven nodded, feeling his back. He felt stiches and staples, a lot of both. “I won, though.” He said with a smile.

Nineteen rolled over onto her side and propped her head up with her hand. “How’d you do it?” She asked him.

Seven walked to the ladder that led up to the second bunk and climbed up, motioning for Nineteen to move over. She did. He slipped in beside her. “Baited him into believing I was beaten. Even let him really injure me.” He said.

“Let me see.” Nineteen said softly.

Seven’s breath hitched in his throat. He rolled over onto his side, he felt Nineteen lift up his shirt, felt her fingers on his back, he flinched. It felt…good.

“Does it hurt?” She asked him, tracing a line down the stitching on his back.

“No.” He said. “It feels strange when you touch it.”

Nineteen trailed her fingers up his spine and to his neck, felt goosebumps poke up on his flesh. “Does that feel strange?” She asked softly, her mouth at his ear.

“No. It feels good.” He breathed. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” He was right. They shouldn’t be this close to each other, somebody would say something.

Nineteen walked her fingers down to his lower back. “We’ll be okay. We’ve won 90 percent of our sparring matches and I’m top score in strategic exams; it gives us a small amount of freedom.” She explained.

Seven pulled his shirt down. “Nineteen. Stop it.” He stated firmly. He sat up and climbed off her bunk and down onto his. “We shouldn’t be that close to each other. Once we reach RAT then maybe we can be close. But until then, don’t blow our chances.”

He heard Nineteen sniff. Was she crying? No. They weren’t allowed to cry, she knew better.

“Okay. I’m sorry, Seven.” She said, sniffing again. “It was just an urge. I knew I shouldn’t have acknowledged it.”

She was crying.

“Nineteen…” Seven said quietly. “Try and get some rest. Can you tutor me on tactics tomorrow? I have an exam in a few days and I need the help.” He heard Nineteen sigh; it was painful.

“Yes. Meet me after breakfast and we’ll work on it.” She said. “I’m going to shower, go to sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Nineteen leaped off her bunk, throwing off her top as she landed. She walked quickly into the shared bathroom and shut the door behind her; Seven heard the water turn on.

He sighed and stood up, undressing himself and changing into his sleeping wear; basically a white onesie. He felt something crawl into his head when Nineteen was touching him, but he didn’t want to give into it. He didn’t deny whatever it was, but to give in was weakness on his part. What he wanted and what she wanted were two different things. He rolled over and closed his eyes.

‘CLICK’

Seven looked in the direction of the sound; it was the door. And it was unlocked.

“Seven. Go. Run.” A voice said over the comm system in their room. “Go. Now!” It was garbled, no idea if it was male or female.

Was this a test?

He sprang out of bed, dashing towards the door. He slinked his fingers through the crack and slowly pried it open. He glanced outside; nobody in sight. He took one last look towards the bathroom, still hearing the water running. She wouldn’t even know he was gone. He sprinted out the door, running down the white hallway even though he had no idea where he was headed.

He swung left, and then right, then left again, hoping he’d get somewhere.

It took several seconds before he realized that alarms had been blaring.

“This is an impressive test.” He said aloud.

What was his objective? Where was he supposed to go?

Reading the signs that dotted the halls, Seven ran towards the hanger bay. Best objective he could think of. If they wanted him to escape, then that was the place to do it. Wide open space, small airships to steal, a lot of hiding places; it was perfect.

He rounded the final corner, his heart pounding in his chest. The gigantic hanger space greeted him.

“Stop!” A voice said behind him.

Seven whirled around, a smile on his face. “I win?” He asked.

A group of guards stood in a line, guns at the ready. One of them smirked. “Yeah, you won alright.” He said with a chuckle.

Seven’s smile faded. It took him until now to realize that this wasn’t a test.

“Open fire!” One of the guards yelled. Simultaneously they pulled their triggers.

The air was ripped apart by machine gun fire. Seven threw his arms forward, sending a maelstrom of telekinetic energy towards his attackers. Bullets flew in all directions. Some embedding themselves in the floor, others finding their way back towards the guards.

Seven’s instinct kicked in; he had to run. Only two of the guards were left standing and they couldn’t take him. Seven spun on his heels and sprinted towards one of the airships, bullets screamed past his ears. He slammed his eyes shut and kept running. All he had to do was get to one of the ships and he was home free.

Why did he want to leave? He had grown up here. He had friends here. Were they his friends? Or were they enemies?

‘WHAM, WHAM, WHAM’

He felt three bullets bury themselves in his back; his stitching came loose. He collapsed to the ground. Was he paralyzed? No, he could feel his toes. He could still stand, but he would wait. He heard footsteps coming closer, coming to finish him off.

“Is he dead?” One of the guards said.

“No. He’s still breathing.” The other said. “This should finish him.”

WHAM.

He felt a tremendous amount of pressure behind his eyes. The pain was excruciating. They’d shot him in the head. Why was he still alive?

“Is he dead now?”

“Yes. He isn’t breathing. Get him out of here.”

Seven felt them lift him off the ground; they were dragging him. He rolled his head. Where was the exit?

The big hanger doors were open. That was his way out. It was either he died on the ship or he died in freefall. He would take his chances in freefall. With what strength he had left Seven threw his energy out at his sides, throwing the guards across the hanger. He screamed in pain as the pressure in his head built up even more. It was only a couple hundred feet towards the exit. Forcing everything he had left at his feet, he propelled himself upwards and forward, flying through the air and towards his exit.

The cold night air felt good on his skin. It was raining too. It was the freshest air he had ever smelt; they didn’t let them outside on the Shinryu, ever. He stretched his arms out to his sides, feeling the wind rush past his body. It took him a few minutes to realize that he was falling. He was going to die.

Unless…

Seven built up all his energy around him, building it up until he couldn’t take it anymore, until the pain go so much he felt like he was going to pass out. This was it. This was the moment of truth. The moment where whatever being was watching over him decided if he lived or died. This-

SMASH!

Seven slammed down, hard, onto something incredibly solid. It wasn’t ground, it was…metal? Was he moving? All these questions ran through his pounding head. His body ached, he reached up to rub his head and his hand came away covered in blood; it was bad. He felt his eyes roll into the back of his head before passing out.
Welp. Guess I have to make a OOC post first. Considering we go over everything in PM, this will rarely be used.
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