BCTheEntity

MHA: Bot Ten Heroes!

So right away, he got singled out. Yeah, go figure, right? Fuckin' hell. First off, some fat kid tried to get his attention, forcing Mark to look down at him. Or was that just a coat... no, no, he was definitely chunky as shit.

'...hey,' Mark replied sullenly, only to be immediately cut off by- oh goody, turbine douche was loud and way too proud! Seriously, fuck that guy, and fuck his speeches. At least one of the fitter girls pointed out that, yeah, he ranked lower than her. Oh, hang on... didn't he rank lower than Mark, too? He couldn't help but let out a grim chuckle with that realisation, before again getting distracted by... some loud, muscular guy, with lions for hands- okay, what the hell was he trying to say? Something about whether he saw anything up... dare? Dare, dere- oh, "there". If he had the features for it, Mark would have looked genuinely confused. Instead it just looked like more of a grimace than anything. The, uh, actual roaring lions didn't help, either.

'Er, yeah, I did see something, actually. The field.' He folded his lower set of arms, tilting his head as if to say "stupid question". Because it was. 'But I mean, if I saw anything important, which I guess is whatcha meant, I'd have said I saw something, man.' Was he being a bit rude? Yes, and furthermore, fuck that guy. He was stressed, he could be given a break.

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

@Randomness

So she didn't remember anything either? Figures. He'd remember if he'd ever met a little girl. But then, if he didn't remember her... fuck, weird memory shit was stupid as hell. And it kind of occurred to him that he might be in trouble if he started throwing out swears around the kid, too. Damn.

'Yeah, you and me both,' he shrugged, grimacing. 'I guess we'll have to figure out what's up. First... well, come out in the corridor with me. Take any toys you want, too, I guess.' Motioning for her to follow along, he stepped back out, trying to remember where he'd heard that other voice calling from... was it a fair distance away? Maybe? Shit. And then there were a bunch of other cells...

'Alright, kid, you're gonna need to trust me on this,' he said to her, trying to sound sort of reasonable, 'but I'm gonna go check out where that other voice came from. In the meantime, you look in the other ce- rooms, and see if there's anybody who hasn't come out yet, okay? And... uh... if something tries to get you, you run back to me? Sound like a plan?' The correction about the cells was something he probably didn't need to do, but then if this was a prison, the kid didn't need to know it. Nor did she need to think he was immediately abandoning her. He wasn't some crazy who left kids to die... he didn't think he was, anyway. Had he said "something" earlier? No, that would've scared her, he must've said "somebody"... yeah, that sounded right. "If somebody tries to get you", and so on.

@Bazmund

Once she'd agreed to that- or hell, if she clung to him like a scared puppy, he wasn't going to handhold her through all of this- he'd start walking off, trying to find where that voice had called out from earlier. If he was right, it was a little ways away... and sure enough, he eventually found a door that was for some reason still closed, and clearly containing somebody who was trying his damndest to get out.

'Ay, mate,' he called through the door, tapping on it to make sure he got the guy's attention. From the glass window looking in, he seemed like... well, a bit of a skinny weirdo. Bicho raro flaco. 'You, uh, need some help? You look like yer stuck in there.'

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

Early morning. More speeches. Unnecessary. 415633-983223-17-Zhatka knew already that it was his duty to fight and die in the Emperor's name. That was his lot. That was their lot, and somehow they didn't know better yet. Weakness.

Moreover, their company had not been issued proper vestments. All others dressed in black and white camouflage. Fewer than half of C Company shared this outfitting. 415633-983223-17-Zhatka had not been asked to redress. He found he did not wish to. Weakness, failure to integrate? Strength, preserving expected standards? Uncertain. Individuality, either way, that ought to be intolerable. He could not see any other survivors from his regiment. No rebreathers were present. Foolishness. An intolerable atmosphere left no room for glory in death.

Perhaps leniency was the merit of veterancy. He ought to have died on Vernum. He would likely die elsewhere anyway. Death alongside strangers was hardly acceptable. But it would have to do. As benefits of the Company's laxity, he retained his melta gun and bayonet. They would serve well in taking the Imperium's enemies with him.

Dismissal from ordered lines. New orders: meeting forty five minutes, not eight hours. Time to address needs, and to ensure proper form. Not much longer.

...time, perhaps, to sneak a chapter of reading in. The words he had halted at previously came to mind unbidden. "You are as beautiful and pungent as the corpse of a burning heretic," Krieg Unit 69-42 Model 0 announced to his lover, who stood up slightly straighter at the compliment to her smell. He could reserve his energy, briefly. For the assessment. That would make sense, yes. With that decided, he marched to his quarters, keeping his own shoulders as straight as he could. He would need sustenance too, naturally.

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

@Randomness

A couple of things caught his attention. First, a yelp as he called out; and then, as he moved toward it with low, concerned muttering, another voice. Muffled, but clearly upset. Clearly wanting out.

'...a'ight,' he quietly decided to himself, 'maybe I oughta check things out. They're prolly people like me, right?' "Like him." Immediately, he figured that was wrong. He had some way of working himself, sort of... something that wasn't normal. Right, that might be why he was here. And, for that reason, he figured he should keep that to himself until he had to show it off.

But first, the source of the yelp. The door he was pretty sure it came from was open, anyway; stepping to up it, he pushed it open and leaned in, taking a look around the place. It had more stuff in it than where he'd woken up, anyway: dresser, desk, night light, a bookcase, the hell happened with him that meant he didn't have that? Why the fuck didn't he have a bookcase? Whatever motherfucker put him in that prison did him dirty, that was for damn sure! But, clearly there were toys, too, dolls and shit... was this- were there kids in here too? Was that lump under the blanket a little girl? Shit, he didn't want to be a babysitter for some toddler, and he sure as fuck didn't want to be in some place that kept fuckin' children in jail!

...he had a quick think about what to do next outside of the cell. Clearly, there was some reason he was here. If it was that, then maybe he wasn't wrong to start with: maybe this kid, and anyone else in here, also had that, or something like that. So... would the kid go anywhere if he just left them there? Probably not. Which meant he had to be babysit a toddler after all. Fuck him stupid. Sighing aggressively, he moved back into the room, pushing the door wide and leaning against it as he sort of went over what he needed to say. If everyone else was too scared to do anything, then he had to be the guy who made them do things. And for a scared little girl...

'Uh, look, kid,' he began awkwardly, 'I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not the sorta guy who'd hit a child or nothing, you hear?' Shit, this was dumb. He had no idea what the fuck he was doing. 'So, err, you know. You need to come outta there, and, like... eh, como digo esto... you know, stuff needs doing, a'ight? And you need to help me out with that, I guess.' Yeah, he was no good with kids. He really wasn't going to be getting any awards for being a great dad here.

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

The alarm that woke him up was much less of an alarm, and much more of a whinge. Which might be why he didn't immediately react to it. He finally got his eyes open after an extra minute or two, muttering 'Ai, hijo de puta, ¿qué demonios está pasando...?' and blearily shaking his head to get rid of the cobwebs and the lingering feeling that something might be wrong after all. Or, at least, different from usual.

...those cobwebs were taking their sweet time getting out. He was almost having a hard time recalling what "usual" was - but given the fact he was in an empty white room, wearing a uniform grey outfit with a swatch of purple on the chest, complete with collars round his neck and wrists, with little but a pull-up bar and dresser in sight- oh, and a camera in one corner... yeah, this was probably a prison. He-

What was he in here for? He should know that if he was in prison. And what kind of prison put big old collars and shit round the prisoner's necks?

...what was his name again?

'Ah, shit. It's one of those fuckin' situations.' Not that he could remember what "those fuckin' situations" typically were, but for some reason, it seemed likely that this was one of them. Huffing grumpily, he rolled out of the minimalist bed, checking the uniform he had on again - no name, not number, nothing to say what he was called even as he knew he ought to be called out for it about now - and checked the rest of the room. There was nothing fancy about it, no seams or hidden doors he could take note of, though the main door was clearly open anyway. So, out he went, pushing the heavy slab of rubber-edged steel aside so he could get past.

Outside was about as bland as inside. Only difference was, it was a white corridor lined with more doors, instead of a white room. And it wasn't lit very well. All the lights were freaking out, for some reason. Seriously, this was a prison, right? He was pretty sure he knew a prison when he saw one, though he wasn't exactly sure what that meant. Clearly, he wasn't the only prisoner, though... were there normally people to look after the prisoners? And if there were, where were those guys?

'Ay, anyone 'round?' he yelled, wandering down the corridor a bit towards where it... felt, he guessed, like he'd normally need to go. 'If anyone wants to tell me what the fuck's happening, now's the time.' He couldn't help but take note of his voice as he spoke - he assumed it was something related to his skin tone, but he also realised that what he was speaking right now had not been the same as what he'd been speaking when he first woke up. Spitting out a few words in that first language, he was relieved that he at least hadn't lost his ability to speak it, and kept track of where it was different as he muttered to himself. It was, overall, more fluid than the rougher, slouchier tone he had with his second language, as though it wanted to flow more, but it almost seemed angrier as a result? Weird, real weird.

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

Have to be honest, this does look very interesting, but I'm also aware that I'm in a fair number of RPs myself at the moment and can procrastinate wildly at times. Would it be okay if I asked for some words, then generated a character if one particularly caught my eye as something inspiring and fun to play out?

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

At last, hours later, her work was done, and the villagers were healed to the greatest extent she could manage. Then came the order to move on - but not in search of the Saint. The capital had been attacked, and they were to head on to save it from whatever corruption had taken it... Alexa blinked beneath her helm as she realised how sleepless this night would be, but they had no right to sleep when such peril came upon those who ruled the planet. The Emperor's blessing, then, that it'd be done with soon - and that they'd be able to end the threat to the Saint in kind, if they could.

---

The curfew was, perhaps, a blessed thing. At this time, it meant civilians were not travelling the streets, or more likely rioting in the streets for sheer panic. In some ways, that made their job easier - and in others, it made it harder, as a night attack wound up bypassing the usual pleas for assistance and subsequent additional support that might have been sent in the day. Unless the attack had begun prior to nightfall... so many possibilities, and yet the end result was the same.

So, too, was the end goal quite clear, once they arrived: rescue the governor, by any means necessary. The problem, of course, being that the heretics within demanded the Sororitas give themselves and the Governor's Emissary up to that end... and that was unacceptable, frankly. It couldn't be done. It was inconceivable, and for what purpose? They were just making demands because they felt they could, and surely wouldn't keep their promise if they got their way, heretics never did such a thing, they'd lost the Emperor's favour and so they imagined themselves utterly untouchable-

Alexa caught herself as she realised she was losing herself to needless fear. She need not fear. She could think about their options, as Sister-Celestian Victorine ordered of them. For a moment, she simply breathed deeply, expelling her worry as best she could with fresh oxygen and an inner psalm to the God-Emperor, and by listening intently to the Confessor and Sister Dominica's suggestions. The Confessor's idea, preceded no less by his unhelpful suspicions that they had been duped, seemed risky - aside from anything else, no peasant girl present would match Alexa's extended frame, and even if they did, Alexa could hardly agree to risking an innocent for her own sake. Meanwhile, Sister Lisbeth's plan was simply outrageous: to let the Governor die as a martyr was as ridiculous as it was unnecessary, and they couldn't hope to "storm the palace" without themselves forfeiting their lives. Death was no consequence, certainly, but to do so with no reason...

Something she said sparked an idea in her, though. "An alternative route". What if... and the very thought was a little strange for her, but since it was more or less their ideas anyway...

'If I may, Sister-Celestian?' she queried, continuing quietly once she'd been given the go-ahead, 'I imagine a full assault would end poorly. For a mission this sensitive, the longer we can keep the heretics from acting, the more time we have, as the Confessor suggests. If... granted, I wouldn't send any number of innocents to their doom, but if we equip some women with our armour and guns... we can leave them outside the palace as if debating the terms given at length, whilst we sneak in armed with melee weapons.' She gestured to the Sarissa on her belt, a silent monomolecular weapon perfect for such a role, even as the idea of slitting a man's throat in cold blood soured her guts, heretic or no. 'Once the governor is out of immediate harm's way, you could call in the Astra Militarum to swarm the palace and purge the heretics, whilst we escort him to safety proper. Perhaps a shuttle landing in a pre-determined location for our pick-up...' Well, a flying vehicle was what Sister Dominica had eventually suggested, right? That made Alexandra's heart flutter slightly more slowly in her chest. She'd find a way to handle the matter, just as Sister-Celestian Victorine would decide how best to handle this matter.

MHA: Bot Ten Heroes!

Mark, admittedly, was in an embarrassing position. He'd not been saddled with the lowest possible rank he could, or even within the lowest 10% of the year group... but some comfort that was when he was lumped in with them anyway. It wasn't called the Bot Five, after all. Bottom it was, anyhow: he'd not been properly prepared, and he had paid for it with few robot kills, not to mention that turbine asshole's dick move screwing him over, and now the other students had even more reasons to isolate him than before. He was already a gross fly person, why did he need to be considered academically inept too? What a pain.

And they, along with what looked like just over a dozen other students, had been called out to the East Track Field. Where there was fucking nothing. No teachers, no equipment, just the Bottom Ten in their uniforms- he'd made damn sure his own armour was properly put on, so he could at least make a better second impression than first- and a bunch of other poor sons of bitches, inexplicably including at least a couple of Top Ten students. No doubt they were there to... he didn't know, "bolster morale" or something. More likely to tell them they all stunk, if he was right on the money about their being cocky.

Either way, they were devoid of teachers. Maybe they'd be left alone for fifteen minutes, and get to skip the rest of the class. For now, though, he'd be a flipping dumbass and make himself obvious: flying upward a couple of meters just to get over the other student's heads, he hovered roughly in one spot, trying to look about and see whether anybody else was about at all. Maybe hidden in the treeline or something?

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

@Not Fishing As Bright says, we have a Discord. Feel free to join it whenever you wish.

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

MP-1834-JC

Full Name:
Jeremiah Beltrán Carlos

Age:
29

ID Number:
MP-1834-JC

Nationality:
Multiple: Spain, United Kingdom

Appearance:
MP-1834-JC is a Hispanic male, measuring 169 cm and weighing 76 kg as of [VOID]. MP-1834-JC has curled brown hair down to his temples, brown eyes, and above-average musculature for his age. A red heart shape wrapped in green thorned vines is tattooed on his left upper arm, the vines specifically obscuring the heart across its horizontal center line. A knife is tattooed on to his right forearm, drawn to suggest it is piercing the flesh, complete with blood spilling on to and around the blade. The Spanish text "Bomba de Gasolina" (translating to English as "Petrol Pump" or "Gasoline Pump") is tattooed in Impact font on his abdomen in two separate lines; two black arrows point from either side of the word "Gasolina" toward his genitalia.

Background:
MP-1834-JC was born on the 8th of December, [VOID] in Ibiza Town on the Spanish island of Ibiza. At age 1, his family moved to the United Kingdom, taking residence in central London for work-related reasons. MP-1834-JC received average education and accommodation throughout his early life, but is noted to have been involved in gang activity as young as fifteen, and did not pursue education beyond A-levels, instead becoming further involved with the Hispanic gang [VOID] (see Acquisition).

Anomalous Containment Staff were made aware of MP-1834-JC on [VOID] due to inter-gang violence against [VOID] (see Acquisition). He was apprehended shortly thereafter, putting up relatively little resistance due to [VOID], and initially contained as a Blue security threat, but was reassessed as a Purple security threat after [VOID] (see Addendum 1). Aggression against staff has notably increased since then, and MP-1834-JC refuses to clarify when he first became aware of his anomalous properties.

Powers:
Auto-Liquefaction || MP-1834-JC is able to discorporate his body into an increasingly liquidous mass, described by the subject as a sensation of "melting". MP-1834-JC can fully discorporate into a flexible gel-like state over the course of forty five seconds, and into a water-like state over the course of ninety seconds, with selective control over which portions of his body discorporate first if desired; he experiences no apparent pain or harm from this process, and can reverse the discorporation at will, reverting to his standard appearance over the same timeframes as described above. MP-1834-JC loses muscular control as liquefaction increases, being notably impaired whilst partially molten and unable to move when fully liquefied, but retains sensory input and becomes increasingly able to alter his form regardless of bodily structure at greater levels of discorporation; greater discorporation also results in greater resilience to kinetic force, and small physical injuries can be erased through a process of partial dissolution and reformation, though severe injuries such as extensive burns and substantial head or neck trauma remain potentially life-threatening.

Privileges:

• Dresser, inside face oriented toward camera
• Pull-up bar, bolted into floor next to dresser

SECURITY NOTE: MP-1834-JC is noteworthy for being highly non-cooperative with staff as of [VOID], frequently refusing to participate in testing except under duress, and often citing his desire to escape Facility B. MP-1834-JC is not unsocial with fellow subjects, but is prone to sudden bursts of aggression with little apparent provocation, though he is aware that he lacks the ability to significantly harm any staff members without himself risking injury. Consequently, MP-1834-JC's privileges are highly restricted, and should be thoroughly examined for potential escape risks before being allowed.