Bork Lazer

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

On the topic of taking in more applicants, I think it would be great to do it.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

>://OVER_DRIVER

Interacting with: @Opposition and @Prizrak

With Taryn in tow behind him, Mack’s footfalls echoed through the barely lit halls of the abandoned Rail-Stop. The walk was punctuated by drops of fetid water from leaking pipes and the silent breeze that blew through the open train-yards, picking up motes of dust and street detritus. With every nerve-wracking step he took, Mack felt as if the darkness was slowly enclosing on him like a rabid pack of out-Zoner mutants, even with the reassurance that the motion and infrared sensors in his Prism were reading zero. The sugar was starting to wear off with Mack’s clammy skin beginning to itch torturously, as if it was a second set of clothing around his flesh. His finger was curled near the trigger of his Street-Shredder, inching towards it like a rat approaching a mouse trap.

The familiar presence of Delilah’s voice into his helmet comms would have been reassuring, if it wasn’t for the fact she was directly contradicting what was spoken earlier. A loud din of noise suddenly breached the wall of silence at the very moment Delilah finished her sentence, intruding that which the RailStop had built up over time through abandonment and decay. “ Hold onto that thought,” Mack replied back as he held a hand back for Taryn to stop. They weren’t alone here. He continued to walk further into the dark, gaping maw of the trainyards, nearing a small outcrop of pale yellow light. The familiar red glow of infrared - human heat - began to apepar on his Prism as a man strode out of the darkness, towing what seemed like one of the voting kiosks with him on a cart. Everything about the man spoke street punk. His black hair was industrially cut and shaved to the root. A high-collared jacket and ragged synth-fibre pants adorned his body. The street raff had also seemingly chromed up his right arm, mechanized digits reaching for the heavy calibre pistol in his holster. Which was being pointed towards him and Taryn right now. Mack might have been more confident of their two-to-one odds if two more guys didn’t appear out from the back. The common connection between all of them was the strange logo that had been branded on their cyberware. Hell, there wasn’t any modern corporation nor organisation that he knew used that -

Except one certain mayoral election candidate and his band of merry supporters.

It hit him. The disappearance of Rott from the final debate. The presence of the Knights here at this station. It wasn’t on accident. It was on purpose. Of course, Rott would be the type of man to stoop to such dirty tactics. Mack began to raise up his A.B.C SMG, though, he didn’t have the luxury of striking first blood as the Knights began opening up with a heavy fusilade of lead, burnt propellant trailing behind each projectile, rounds flying out from the barrel at dizzying speeds, ready to send him flinging -

“ Geeeeeettttttttt ttthhhhhheeeee laaaaasssssssttttt ooooooonnnnneeee-”

The Kasparovian booster-ware sank his nerves into a river of jellied time, blurs of high-velocity bullets transforming into slugs that were travelling at the speed of a softball. His heart hammered in five-second intervals as every sensation he felt was magnified ten-fold. He felt like the arbiter of speed in this realm, this addicting reality that only he could access for himself. However, the fast reaction times that the booster-ware conferred onto him would only act as a illusory shield towards the bullets that were currently careening towards them. Without wasting time, Mack pushed Taryn out of the way of the initial fusilade. Unfortunately, he was just one heart-beat too late as a bullet slowly ran a gouge through the side of his Prism. He ducked down wildly underneath a corroded plastic bench before crawling towards the safety of one of the many concrete pillars.

“Great.” Mack sidled up onto his bottom, his Prism slightly cracked with a wicked groove that dug into the poly-laminate armouring.“Isn’t it just great how you bump into people at the train station, Weaver?!” Another spray of high-velocity bullets shattered a window to the right of his position. The two armed gangsters had taken up cover behind the dwindling and were firing at them in controlled bursts, yelling at them to retreat. To piss off. Warning shots.

Fuck that.

He took out the A.B.C and fired overhead without looking, wild uncoordinated sprays of high-velocity flechettes in the general direction of the gangsters. Puffs of grey burst out of the concrete pillars, a few sticking into the shoulders and legs of their assailants. Mack continued peppering the Knights with untrained bursts, the steaming barrel erupting erratically until it clicked empty. He stopped. The cheap plastic frame of the A.B.C was beginning to warp and bend like old chewing gum from overheating. He stared from behind his cover to look at the remaining survivors.

It had done fuck all. Instead of wounds, all the Secedo 5mm’s had managed to do was leave a trail of red welts. Mack threw his ABC onto the ground with a clatter before drawing out the Street Shredder. One barrel. One shell. He breathed inwards. Good enough. He waited for the cacophony of rifle-fire. aimed devastation at a thick concrete pillars that one of the Knights were hiding behind. The muzzle flash blinded him for a few seconds like a flash grenade as the sub-sonic propellant ignited, propelling the anti-material round towards their cover. The concrete immediately imploded inwards before The kinetic penetrator slug that was a part of the ‘SoulKraft’ pain package The Knight , who was now uncovered, was knocked onto the ground, groaning in pain but not dead. Mack’s entire right arm ached from the bucking recoil as he surveyed the damage done. A large, red scar bled from one of the head of the Knights as they wearily stood up. He’d done jack-shit in terms of actually killing a person.

“ Hey, Amano! Rott’s got his people hijacking the goddamn RailStop voting kiosks! You mind telling me - “ Mack crouched downwards, swiveling his head away from the left, to avoid a spray of bullet-fire that could have taken his head off. “ - where Cantos is right now? We’re pinned down here! ”

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

So @The Bork Lazer what’s the move? Do you want to wait or no?

@Prizrak

I'm not waiting. I'm currently writing a post about the gunfight so yeah, no waiting whatsoever.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

[𝔻𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕪 & 𝔻𝕦𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪] Let me know if you guys have any questions.

@Opposition

I think this was clear in your description but Rott's gang members haven't started firing at us yet? It hasn't escalated into an all-out gunfight with Mack and Taryn, right?

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

I HAVE LET THE PEOPLE DOWN
SO SORRY
LIFE HAS BEEN SUPER HECTIC OMG
tomorrow...gomenasai.....shits been bonkers

@AdobeFlash

*pats AdobeFlash’s head*

EDIT:

On that note, I will probably get out a response by today or tomorrow.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

Discussing Aphantasia and the effects on writing and text-based roleplaying

I think being able to visualise a scene and write it out for me is what I need to consider with every word I write. It's not really a case of ensuring verisimilitude in every scene that I write but more out of ....necessity? You know how they say an image tells a thousand words and so forth? I rely on just general auditory and visualistic stimuli in order to concentrate on writing. When I want to write abstract details, I usually rely more on music to help me concentrate my tone whilst if I am writing concrete imagery, I usually have to both listen to music and visualise the scene in my head.

In terms of text-by-text roleplaying, it's an interesting case because you're essentially collaborating to write a story instead of the other way around where you are the sole writer of the story. You're gonna have a lot of writing styles mesh together and I can definitely say that as aphantasia varies relative to the individual writer, the level and style of prose in a thread is gonna weave and bob between multiple styles of writing.

Bork Lazer's Storage Bunker

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

S T A T I C

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^{_{V I R G I L O V I D H A W K I N S ♦ C O L L E G E S T U D E N T ♦ D A K O T A C I T Y ♦ B A N G B A B Y V I G I L A N T E}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{“ If you want to test a man, give him power. “}

Year 0 interpretation of Static that examines the political effects of having a massive metahuman diaspora in an urban city. Toss in corporate malfeasance, corrupt law enforcement and gang warfare for a cocktail that examines what it means to make true change in a world that doesn’t want to.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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I’m returning back to Virgil’s world once more because 1) I’m bored as fuck out of my mind and 2) I think his story resonates now with me more than ever. The story focuses more on exploring Dakota City rather than a character study of Virgil himself and his trials and tribulations as a hero. This story is different. This story explores Virgil attempting to solve the ever escalating problems of his hometown and realising that you can’t just punch away all the crime and expect everything to be perfect. Dakota City with all of its various parties of interest, nooks and crannies should be considered the secondary character of Virgil’s story.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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N/A

S A M P L E P O S T:

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He’s drowning yet rising, becoming something else. Water fills his lungs as his bones crack and reform. His nerves are on fire as the Dakota Bay grows murkier around him. His brain struggles for the last gasps of oxygen as he sees the world around him light up like a neon sign and he blacks out and and

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“ Virgil? Virgil? Are you listening?”

Teenagers. Diane groused mentally. Ever since the Paris Island riots, she hadn’t slept for more than 2 hours a night. You couldn’t blame Dakota Union High’s superintendent for not taking into account a national bio-chemical incident but you could blame them for a lack of funding. Working 24 hours, 7 days a week with no overtime bonuses, in hindsight, seemed like less of a move of altruism on her part and more of a desire to fulfill some sort of hidden sado masochistic tendency within her.

Besides, she wasn’t here for self-pity. She was currently focused on the boy in front of her looking out at the snow in a daze. His frizzy black hair was like an overgrown bush with dandruff peppered throughout. An oversized Lululemon fleece jacket, navy blue, hangs around his slim figure. She can just make out the black and yellow symbol of a clenched fist with the words ‘JUSTICE FOR - “ raised sky high on his white t-shirt before it moves out of view. His bright brown eyes flicker out of whatever daydream he was in, flushing in embarrassment as he rubs the back of his head.

“ Yeah, sorry, miss Franklin.” Virgil’s fingers were tangled together in a knot. “ Just a lot of thoughts going through my head right now.”

“Well, part of my job is to help you sort through all those thoughts.” She tapped the end of her clipboard for a moment before sighing. “ Did you listen to my question just now?”

“ No. No. I remember. You asked….ummmmm….Do you think the Dakota Destroyers will win this weekend’s playoffs?”

“ No. I’m of the opinion that the Gotham Gargoyles have a better chance than our sorry sack of a team.” She chuckled. “ But I digress. How have you been feeling?”

“ Good. You know, fine.”

“ Better than the last time we met?”

“ Well, uh, like everyone says, it’s a process, right? Everyone’s different and I’m different and uh….well…..therapy’s not a quick fix unlike those shrinks you see on TV. Like, you know, I’ve been keeping active if that’s what you’re worried about. “

“ You seem a little tense.”

“ Tense?” He nervously chuckles. “ Nah, why would I be tense? I’m not trying to hide anything or….”

“ Virgil.” Her voice becomes suddenly sharper before taking on a more gentle This is not an interrogation. This is just a conversation.”

“ I don’t know if I can believe that.”

“Nothing leaves this room without your wish.”

The lights in the room dim for a moment, and then, flare back up. Odd. They just did renovations for this block a week ago. She’ll have to call maintenance tomorrow to take a look at lighting. Virgil exhales, rubbing his hands together to warm himself in the chill of silence.

“ All right, then.” He looks up, his face haunted. “ It all began with a Big Bang.“

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

@MagratheanWhale I sympathise with you.

Oh, and Maggy. Oppy's not known as OppositionJ anymore.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

Just a heads up. Taryn doesn’t really have an anti-augmentation stance, she just doesn’t have any. It’s more of a personal philosophy than anything else, although with her physical condition deteriorating daily she may or may not be persuaded into getting them if the opportunity presents itself.

@Prizrak

Ah shit, I'll edit my post quickly.