Bork Lazer

(NOW CLOSED:) Marvel RE: Imagine - A Marvel Comics Roleplay

Stranger in a Strange Land

Character Concept

---

Once a brilliant neurosurgeon, Stephen Strange's arrogance proved to be his undoing in an untimely automobile accident that rendered his hands damaged beyond repair. Spending an obscene amount of his wealth on searching a cure, Stephen resorted to traversing to the far reaches of the Himalayas in search of the Masters of the Mystic Arts, a collective of individuals who supposedly could cure any ailment with sorcery. Under the tutelage of the Ancient One, Stephen Strange devoted himself to the study of the supernatural and arcane and became a fellow defender of the

During a routine inspection of the Wundagore Mountains alongside his teacher and fellow friend, Baron Karl Mordo, a resulting series of unfortunate events led to the death of the Ancient One. Out of guilt and shame for his self-perceived role in the death of his master, Stephen declined the post of Sorcerer Supreme, leaving Mordo to shoulder the mantle of becoming Earth's mightiest mortal. As adversaries of the Masters, supernatural foes, and otherworldy dangers seek to take advantage of the Order's vulnerability, Stephen must now become the newest steward of the New York Sanctum Sanctorum.

Wiz-biz. Wiz-biz. Wizards gonna bizards. This is mostly a worldbuilding exercise in magic featuring Stephen as the main character. He's not a neophyte hedge wizard nor is he the vincent price looking god-fucking motherfucker yet. He's what I call a 'Year Two' Strange. I'm primarily drawing from the old Kirby runs, a lil bit of MCU, a lil bit of Dresden Files, a lil bit of Hellboy and every piece of urban fantasy out there alongside Jed McKay's newest run to create an updated version of Marvel's Sorceror Supreme.

Key Notes

Tenants of the Sanctum Sanctorum

Doctor Stephen Strange M.D - A relatively young (40 is considered to be a teenager in wizard years) master of the mystic arts who was considered by many in the council to be the natural successor for the post of Sorceror Supreme should the Ancient One face an untimely death. He has become somewhat of a black sheep in the wake of the chaos that followed his master's death as many practitioners and disciples viewed his rejection of the post as a deliberate insult to their entire order. Considered by many masters to be a loose cannon with a penchant for breaking magical law to suit their own needs.

Wong - Chef, chemist, assassin, thamaturgist, butler, cleaner, Wong is what Wong is. Having served as an archivist for over two centuries in the Order of the Mystic Arts, he is Strange’s sole confidant.

Bats - The spectre of an NYPD basset hound who died under Strange’s care after saving his former master’s life from a bullet. Now, he has made the New York Sanctum Sanctorum his haunt and assists Strange with matters of mortal law enforcement.

Jericho Drumm - An young Haitian magician who specializes in the voodoo arts and is currently the disciple of Doctor Strange. His brother, Daniel Drumm, serves on the Council of Masters as a senior member.

Zelma Stanton - A college dropout with a burgeoning talent in the mystic arts who trains to be the next archivist of the New York Sanctum Sanctorum and an intern in the New York Public Library.

Masters of the Mystic Arts

Baron Karl Mordo, Sorcerer Supreme - Once Strange’s closest friend, they have become estranged in the wake of the Ancient One’s demise as Mordo struggles to bear the burden of the mantle of their former master.

The Council of Masters - A collection of 5 democratically voted Masters who delegate the affairs of the Order of the Mystic Arts and serve a check on the authority of the Sorceror Supreme. The current members of the 445th Council of Masters includes:

Clea - A 400 year old Faltine refugee from the Dark Dimension who is the niece of Dormammu and Umar. She originally held the post of Sorceror Supreme in the Dark Dimension before another eventual war between the Faltine warlords forced her to flee to Earth. Was romantically involved with Strange during his years as an initiate before circumstances concerning her parentage forced her to break up with him. In spite of this, she still harbors affection for Stephen.

Daniel Drumm - A Jamaican sorceror who specializes in Voodoo Magic. He is the youngest member of the Council and is considered the most inexperienced in matters of sorcery. Still, he has accomplished much for his age, establishing the first Sanctum Sanctorum in New Orleans and being the Council's primary delegate and contact with the Loa Pantheon. He is also the elder brother of Jericho Drumm and has entrusted Strange with tuition of his brother in the mystical arts.

Anthony Druid - An Celtic druid who traces back his history to the time of Avalon, when King Arthur ruled and enough magic suffused the air that even a peasant could pray and shit gold from his back.

Agatha Harkness - The First Witch and the only member of the council who has managed to read the Darkhold with their mind intact. They were the inspiration of folktales concerning witches worldwide and indulged in a few massacres during her first few centuries before becoming tired of it.

Kaecilius Orlo - A German railroad engineer who immigrated to Canada in the late 1800s. His family died in the Halifax explosion and his second family died yet again due to the Spanish Flu. He is the second-most youngest member of the council and is a close ally to Karl Mordo, being almost akin to a yes-man.

The Vishanti - A trio of elder cosmic deities consisting of Agamotto The Wise, Hoggoth the Hoary and Osthur the Lawful who have traditionally served as patron principalities of the Masters of the Mystic Arts. As of late, they have become mysteriously silent.

Otherwordly Forces

---

Dormammu, the Dread Lord - Ruler of the Dark Dimension and arch-enemy of the Order of the Mystic Arts. He first stepped on our plane in the Neolithic Era and was beaten back by the First Wizard, Agamotto the Wise. Since then, he has considered Earth more trouble than it's worth but make no mistake, he is merely preparing to mount one grand invasion that will remove any hint of his former defeat by those pesky mortals.

Nightmare - Freddy Kreuger, eat your heart out. Every nightmare, every bad dream, every chill in the night is the fault of one singular individual. The underlord of the Dream Dimension who hopes to breach the barriers of the Astral Plane and enter the material realm to wreak eternal horror.

Chthon - The source of all Darkness on the mortal plane. Even though he is sealed away in the deepest, darkest world, the legacy of his work has left a festering scar on Earth since the dawn of the first morning. He is the author of the Darkhold, the scribe of Chaos Magic, the primogenitor of Black magic and has spawned unholy beings from Earth’s first virgin soil.

Mephisto - Though he has only held the post for 959 years since he tore out the heart of his predecessor, Beezlebub, Mephisto's vileness is no less cruel than any Arch-Lord of Hell. His greatest asset is not the legions of demons he commands but his quicksliver tongue and ability to make any deal fall in his favor.

Shuma-Gorath - He/She/It/They is known by many/multiple/hundreds of names, the Many-Angled One, the Never-Ending, The All-Growing. The ruler of a hundred dimensions/realms/realities, Shuma-Gorath has attempted multiple incursions/invasions/conquests of Earth and has been beaten back at terrible cost by the Masters of the Mystic Arts. It has been 9/nearly a decade/4 cosmic solstices since his last invasion and he only grows stronger each time.

(NOW CLOSED:) Marvel RE: Imagine - A Marvel Comics Roleplay

Sample Post: Paging For....

“ One long black for….,” The cashier pauses and looks at his name with squinted eyes. She won’t be the first or last today. Before the name exits her lips, he snatches the two steaming cardboard cups from the counter.

“ It’s a bit strange, I know,” He winks mischeviously and then, exits the cafe, shouldering past the line of cold New Yorkers in the November winter.

The streets aren’t full of snow but already, the city shivers. Both physically in the shrouded coats of every passerby walking to and fro around him and spiritually in the muted neon lights and the dwindling fires. He can hear within the fetid sewers and the lain boney corpses of a thousand seafarers within the foundations a lumbering heartbeat.

He sits down on a park bench and takes a sip of his coffee. He wipes the line of milk foam off his thin moustache and watches couples, children, old, young pass by, a hundred stories, a hundred tales waiting to end. Ever since his venture to the Himalayas, enjoying a simple cup of coffee now is a labour in of itself. The Himalayas. The cold breeze is but a shadow of his trek up those slopes. In the middle of another slip, the loud scream of a baby makes him forget to close his eyes and he Sees.

The beyond is all and it foments and festers around him like a petri dish. The sky is a cracked window and the clouds squirm and wriggle, intent on burrowing downwards onto the thousands of souls below. Schools of phantasms whip around in the sky and the soil teems with the forgotten ballads of kingdoms past. Shoals of phantasms huddle around each other, aimlessly living out the patterns of their mortal coils and daemons prey on the unwary souls like parasites.

His master would have called this balance. He believed it to be an infestation.

“ Spending too much time Seeing isn’t good for the soul,” The voice was like a gong. The world rewound back to normal, cracks glueing back themselves together. He blinked and he was back in the park. However, there were two things wrong. Firstly, the park had become mysteriously vacant in the span of a minute. The odor of incense clued him that wards, strong wards were in play. Secondly, his coffee however was missing from his hand. He heard a loud slurp to his right and immediately turned his neck, relaxing when he saw a portly bald man in linen robes. The lines on his face were gaunt and his complexion was a pale tanned brown. His lips curdled in disgust as he set the coffee cup on the bench.

“ I like the cafe down by Broadway more than this one.”

By Hoggoth’s hoary hosts, the man was hard to satisfy.

“ Well, perhaps, you shouldn’t rely on me to make coffee trips, Wong.” He retorted. Leaning back, he palmed his face and signed in dread of what was to come next. “Well. on with it, then. What do we have today?”

Wong snapped his fingers and a scroll of parchment bobbed over from the pile of documents. He deftly took it and unrolled to read it. “ An asura possession in lower Manhattan, two hereditary curses, an enochian summoning circle gone awry and a garden gnome dispute in northern Greenwich. This is just what’s come in this morning, Stephen.”

“ Well, then,-” Stephen said in a light sarcastic tone.. “ Sounds like a light day“. He snapped his fingers and the Cloak of Levitation unfurled out from the neck of his sweater, curling up around him protectively like a serpent. “ Reply to our clients in the next hour or so. Tell them Doctor Strange will be in to see them.”

COLD PLAGUE

“ Oh, jesus, oh fuck -” The thief blubbered out loud. Omar almost sympathized the man and then, it was quickly lost when he remembered how he ended up handcuffed in their patrol vehicle in the first place. He rocked back and forth, a terrified expression on his face. “ Please let this be a dream, please let this be a dream…”

Omar opened the back door without a word and grabbed the shaking thief roughly by the shoulders. The thief’s denim hoodie was no match for the downpour and became immediately soaked. It was then that Omar immediately realized how hard it was just to see in the rain. The relentless sheets of grey splattered down onto the roads and seemingly cloaked the shambling bodies towards him. The sound of Mira’s pistol echoed in the wind -

And then, for the second time today, something grabbed him by the ankle again. Omar looked down and gaped in horror as he saw the freckled face of Emma Hopkins. She was a rookie in the force like him. Now, her dimpled face snarled flecks of blue spittle, paddling herself on the wet road wit what remained of the rest of her limbs.

“Motherfuck-” Omar swore as he brought his foot down and slammed down on Emmas head. What remained of his fellow officer became little more than a stain on his boot as meaty chunks sprayed all over the asphalt. The thief looked deathly pale and heaved over in a dry gag.

“ Holy shit, man-” The thief’s eyes then perked up and pointed over Omar’s shoulder. “ Look out!”

It only took a moan from behind for Omar’s reflexes to kick in. He swung his baton behind in an arc, aiming for what he hoped was the face. It stopped as though lodged in a piece of wood. Clamped around it were the jaws of another body. An EMT, by the looks of it. Their uniform was stained brown and red, old and new blood. The former EMT wrenched his head away and to Omar’s horror, the baton began to crack.

Police batons were made out of high quality oak wood coated in Teflon polymer. He once saw an officer drop it into the department’s wood chipper and come out the other end unscathed.The EMT had now bitten off a piece and was now grinding it like taffy between his molars. His head then disappeared in a puff of blood followed by the sound of a shotgun being reracked. The headless body collapsed to the ground and behind him was a grizzled old man, white muttonchops on either side of his cheek, and a furred stetson on his head.

“ Omar, that you?”

“Jack, the hell’s going on?!,” The old officer didn’t bother replying and walked towards him, shotgun still in hand, before hissing and clutching his left wrist. He turned the other side of his palm and blood trickled from his wrist, dripping from several dented cuts in the shape of teeth.

“ We were just returning back from the..Gah!,” Jack waved his wrist and shook his head as though a bee stung him. “ - the hospital. Then, the morgues…..they started coming out of the fucking morgues, man.”

“ Where’s our reinforcements? What about the station?”

“ Most of the station’s been infected. I’m…”Both of their eyes wavered towards the gouged cut on Jack’s wrist and then, locked onto each other again. “…..Listen, that’s not important right now. Last I heard, they’re calling the National Guard in for a quarantine.. You and Mira have to evacuate, leave the - “

Both Omar and Jack froze as they heard a loud-pitched chalk-like screech. It came at random intervals, scraping on the road like a careening automobile. The dark shadow lumbered out from behind a set of dumpsters near the station. Blue like claws dragged on the pavement like some demented ice skater. Its maw was a pit of icicles jutting out, some piercing through the cheek and sprouting from its chest. Somehow, even though its body was shredded beyond belief, it steadily treaded towards the trio of officers, gangly arms by its side.

“ Oh shit.”

A Roleplayer's Guide to The Wal

(TL;DR: Central repository for most of my thoughts and musings on my personal take on the Walmart Apocalypse setting. Feel free to gain inspiration from this as much as you like.

---

“ - Reporting another successful fiscal year with a 13.5% rise - “

“ - Always Low Prices! - ”

“ - happy to announce that we have completed construction of the Eastern Seaboard Mega-Centre- “

This is the Wal. A land of endless aisles and shoplifters.

“- Hundreds arrested and executed for shoplifting - “

“ - Why did you kill them all? - “

“ Black Friday, man. Black Friday.”

How did the Wal come to? No one knows. But, then, we all know of the Fall.

“ - Clocks frozen at 11:59 -”

“ For we swear by the oath of our cardboard encrusted ancestors - “

“ - Damn Smilers. I told you not to let them in -!”

Now, there is only one truth I know.

“March, for today we shall Exit and enter the Gates of Sliding - “

“ Get ready for a drop into the Bargain Bin, boys.”

The Wal is All.

---

Central Lore Primer

- Before the Fall, the world was run by Wal-Corp: a trans-national corporation which was the preeminent world leader in every industry and field imaginable. Agriculture, electronics, politics, genetics, electrical engineering, computing. Governments were replaced by branch management teams, internship academies took the place of universities and farms were replaced by vertical greenhouses the size of mountains. By the year, 2050, everyone became either an employee or customer of Wal-Corp.

- No one remembers when and how the Fall happened but there’s a few things we know. Long-term customers tell us stories of how an eternal eclipse fell across the land and the night grew teeth. They tell us of how the Parking Lots became full with the bodies of loyal customers attempting to seek shelter under the Wal. At first, life was peaceful under the Wal. Customers shopped. Employees worked. Wal-Corp reaped profits like never before. Then, came the Low Price Rebellion. Consisting of disaffected groups dissatisfied with the hypercapitalist screed of Wal-Corp, protests and riots erupted in the lower aisles. This eventually escalated into Bloody Friday, a chain of cyber attacks and thefts in an attempt to cripple and subvert Wal-Corp’s vaunted PA overseer systems. Instead; things took a turn for the worst as the Wal-Tomatons became berserk and turned on their former masters.

- There is no exit or entrance in the Wal. Legends tell of the Gates of Sliding where people attempt to checkout and leave the confines of the Wal. Many have tried escaping to no avail. The syncrete walls of the Wal are virtually impenetrable and few means exist to tunnel through them in time without alerting Security. Unholy leviathans past their expiry date dwell in the depths of the plumbing. Some have managed to eek out an meagre, sun-bleached existence of the Roofs but those who have managed to trek to the edge almost never survive the jump down.

- Almost everyone is a shoplifter and no one is a customer. Whatever went down on Bloody Friday revoked the status of everyone in the Wal into a bootleg version of hostis humanis generi. You cannot use free Wal-Corp health and safety auto-clinics because you are a shoplifter. You cannot legally buy any Wal-Corp product because you are a shoplifter. You are not officially allowed on the premises of Wal-Corp property because you are a shoplifter. All shoplifters will be punished appropriately according to Wal-Corp’s charter code with no quarter.

- Society is divided into departments who have embraced the madness of the Wal by adopting mad ideologies to survive. From the balkanized Free Sections of Grocery, the Stationary Shogunate, the Cleaning Crews and the roaming Brand Gangs, every inhabitant of the Wal is unique in their own way, carving out a unique philosophy suited to their section and their surrounding environment.
The employees are either dead or untrustworthy. The mass majority of employees including the Board of Directors died during Bloody Friday. There are rumours of hidden enclaves of employees biding their time or hiding amongst the general populous, disguised as customers.Becoming an employee is highly difficult with little to no reward and pray that Wal-Corp doesn’t find out that you haven’t been reporting to your manager….

- The Wal-Tomatons are inherently untrustworthy. Centuries of software erosion and a lack of essential firmware updates from Wal-Corp’s central systems have made them extremely prone to glitches. There is no rhyme or rhythm to their subroutines or directives, for they will singlemindedly seek fufillment of their tasks by whatever means necessary. Some individuals have claimed to be able to reprogram Wal-Tomatons but these measures are often always temporary as Wal-Corp’s electronic copyright countermeasures force a reversion back to factory mode…..

- Technology is an anachronistic mix of jury rigged equipment and Wal-CorpTM products which are functionally indistinguishable from supernatural phenomenon. From special sale halloween masks that transform you into monsters, the highly addictive life-extending drug known as Age B Gone, mutagenic puppy chow and nano-assembling kitchen knives; each department has a monopoly on a certain piece of Wal-Tech.

-Everything has a price or capital to be more exact. The exchange of capital for goods is a time-honoured tradition in the Wal. Charity is viewed as an utmost sin.

- The world outside the Wal, for all intents and purposes, is a mystery. Were it not for the horrors of what lies outside, most of the Wal’s inhabitants would be wiped out by hordes of security automatons.

Guidelines To Making Your Own Version of The Wal

1)The tenets of obsequious hyper capitalism must be observed within the setting to a satirical extent but never to the extent where it glamourises without retrospection. The Wal as a setting is both deeply amusing and terrifying. It is a nightmarish manifestation of not just America’s but an increasingly global fetishesm for consumerism, materialism and corporate culture taken to dire extremes.

2)Make the mundane ludicrous. The Wal is a darwnistic hellhole that forces you to either adapt or die. That hypochondriac in the pharmacy section who spends it all on placebos pills? Make him into a mad witch doctor who attempts to experiment with bogus prescriptions on unwary passerbys? That uber-competitive soccer mom in the sports section? Make her into a cult-like figure who recruits orphans from all sections of the Wal and brainwashes them into child soldiers to do her bidding. That tacky ass under-age vaper near the checkout. Make them into a guru shaman who gets ‘visions’ from smoking flavored cigarettes. The only limit is your imagination.

3)The 10 tips above are general things that I consider central to any Wal-Canon but you can alter them as you see fit.

4)There should always be an undertone of horror with the Wal. When you play with the Wal, you can’t forget how deeply fucked up it is and attempt to romanticize the idea of all of humanity being trapped inside a death world like environment.

5)When considering brands or franchises, either play it ironically or play it straight to a satirical extent.
There is always a world outside the Wal and it is in ruin but aside from that, not much else is clear.

COLD PLAGUE

It was odd hearing Mira's voice being so stilted. As his superior, Omar looked at Mira as a steadfast rock throughout his time in Lambour. Now, he wasn't quite sure what to make of her. It was both humbling and frightening at the same time to see her locked in the same straits that he was. His hands trembled as the growing pools of blood on the tiled floor felt like they were drowning him in their crimson glow. The hand that had fired the pistol still felt leaden, numb. The gunfire still rang in his head like a bell.

Omar wordlessly nodded in response to Mira's command, heart still pounding and nerves still frayed from killing not just one but two people in the span of a day. His instructors told him that it was a statistical inevitability that he would have to take a life in his line of work. As soon as Mira walked out of the door, Omar felt as though a valve had been released. He hunched over onto his knees and his stomach somersaulted under the wave of nausea he had been forced to hold in. The sting of bile made him cough as he swallowed it down. His knees buckled under an immovable weight.

Then, the voice of a morbidly obese gas station owner broke him out of his self-induced reverie.

" Excuse me, senor. Would you like me to get you water -?"

" No, no," Omar waved his hand, coughing. He straightened his back and looked at the shopkeeper. " I'm fine. Just remember to follow my superior's instructions."

He then exits the shop, following closely behind Mira.

---

Manuel Francocci considered himself a humble man. He had been divorced twice after his wife discovered him ‘cheating’ with his neighbour and his last wife left him for some argentinian pig. His only son left him to die in a war overseas in some sandbox. He was late on his tax. He’d been forced to mortgage his house. And now, two people had died in his humble convenience store that he had sold all of his life savings to build.

Truly, this was the culmination of bad luck. One could only wonder whether there was some way for him to avoid all of this misery and nonsense.

As he took out a mop and dipped in a bucket of water, he failed to notice the still corpse, head blown up, slowly begin to rise back up. It jerked shakily, arms spasming, before pulling itself up with renewed vigour.

When Mr Francocci turned to look back at the corpse, all he saw was a pool of blood followed by a frostbitten mouth jutting out with jagged crystals of ice.

---

“I’ll take the wheel,” Omar said as he slammed the boot closed and sidled up in the driver’s seat. It was a voice that brokered no discussion and no debate. He adjusted the rear view mirror to take a good look at himself. Even wit the blood wiped off his face, he could still see it, still feel it. Something greasy crawled on his skin that made him want to scratch it off.

The drive was silent on the way to the station. The streets were emptier now and the rain had intensified into a downpour. The roof of the cruiser sounded as though it was being pounded by a foreman. In the rear view, Omar could see the perp being restless in his seat, leaning back and forth. He tugged against his handcuffs for a moment and then, limply gave up on his efforts. He shuffled forward and craned his neck towards the cage that separated him from Mira and Omar.

“ Hey, what the hells’got you two so spooked. You were chatty - “

“ Do us both a favor,” Omar interrupted, leaning back to look at the perp. “ And shut the fuck up.”

Twenty minutes of near peaceful driving returned some warmth back into Omar’s hands. The sound of the round almost washed away his memories of killing two people today. In fact, all he could dread was the huge deluge of paperwork he would have to sift through to write the incident report.

When the station came into view, Omar noticed two things that were wrong.

Firstly, the western gate was left wide open. It was normally closed to prevent civilians from entering.

Secondly, a cruiser was parked at a slant angle to the entrance, the lights still flashing.

“ What the hell….,” Omar parked the car a few feet away from the cruiser. The rain briefly calmed and he could make out a figure dressed in a service coat behind the truck. They weren’t moving towards them or making any sort of motion whatsoever. They were just standing still.

“ Stay in the damn car,” Omar said to the perp. “ Mira, watch over him. I’ll check on what the hell’s going on.” He stepped out, blinded by the shower of rain. He parted his arms through the dense thick rain as he stepped closer. He squinted and he could make out a tuft of ginger hair in the weather.

“ Bromley? What’s going on. Bromley -,” The figure turned around and Omar swore out loud as he saw the same frigid blue eyes and gnashing teeth back at the gas station, only with a different face.

“ Fuck, Mira! He’s turned into one of those fucking things!”

COLD PLAGUE

Hands still shaking on the trigger, Omar shakily nodded as he holstered his Glock to go examine the body inside the freezer. His breath shuddered as he kneeled down to look at the still corpse more closely. Even in the dim light, he could still see the blood. It was easily the most gruesome sight that he had seen in his 10 years of work as a police officer. The flannel jacket was torn to shreds and everything down below his chest was a gaping well of guts and viscera that continually bled out a pool of red. The woman he killed had gobbled her way n to the spine where visible teeth-like indentations were strewn across the bone.. Omar switched on his flashlight to take a better look at the body. The checkered wounds on the open chest and the neck reminded him of roadkill that he’d seen driving over the interstate. Omar moved the light to his head.

The victim’s eye blinked.

Omar shouted out loud as the corpse became possesed, hands leaping out towards him. Omar pulled out his Glock immediately and aimed for the head. The relief he felt when he pulled the trigger was quickly replaced by dread as the gun clicked empty. The man, in the midst of his fumbling for a new magazine, managed to slip a blood-splattered hand over his ankle and a spike of frigid pain went up Omar’s spine.

“ Fuck!,” Omar instinctively recoiled back his foot and stamped down on the hand hard. He felt the hand, the bone under the sallow skin shatter into a thousand pieces under his sole. The man didn’t seem to notice it, still limply pawing at him. Omar took a step back, panting in pain. The dead man in front of him attempted to lift himself off the floor to walk towards Omar but the rules of human physiology, namely missing half of your lower torso, prevented him from doing so. The man realized this and so began to drag himself across the floor in a bloody trail. Omar quickly reloaded his Glock, pulling the slide back to check there was a bullet, before firing at the man’s skull.

The man’s skull exploded in a shower of blood and he became motionless. Omar prodded the corpse gently with his foot to see if it still moved and clasped his chest, heart still beating fast. He stumbled out of the freezer, absentmindedly walking past Mira. His finger wiped a speck of blood that was on his mask before looking at her with uncertainty.

“ The girl was sick. Do you think this is…,” Omar’s mind didn’t want to connect the thoughts. Surely, it couldn’t have been related to the outbreak. “- some sort of symptom? Maybe, we should contact EMS and see if there’s any similar - “

The sound of Blue Monday punctuated the air. Omar looked down towards his vest where his cell phone was stored. Nodding apologetically to Mira, Omar flipped open his vest pocket and spoke into the receiver.

“ This is Omar speaking. Who is this?”

“ Fucking finally!,”A panicked nasally voice with a country twang nearly defeaned Omar. “ I’ve been trying to reach you and Mira through comms for a minute now! We got multiple 10-34’s near Lambour General. We need reinforcements.”

“ Carl?,” Omar said, confused. Carl was supposed to be at the station today on desk duty. “ Relax. Give me a sit-rep.”
“ Fuck, Omar. I don’t know what’s happening in this crowd. The next moment, they’re complaining it’s too warm in the hospital. The next, they’re swarming out in droves. I- “ The phone suddenly became filled with static before returning back to the sound of audible screaming. “ Just get her as fast as you - KZZZTTTTT”

The call declines. Omar tries again and all he’s met with is his caller declining the call multiple times. Eventually, he throws up his hands and looks towards Mira for guidance.

“ Carl just called us. Apparently, there’s 10-34’s at Lambour General. Says he needs back-up. Do you think we should respond or get the perp back to the station?”

Somehow, the thought of dealing with a riot brought a sense of certainty into their current situation. Dealing with pissed off civilians was easier than the violation of natural laws that they were observing before them right now.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Before Aroxy could even process the reply, Helma directly connected the crew comms to the Heavenly Sword channel and proceeded to rant in it.

“ Why don’t you goose-stepping, jobbie jabber, baw bag, cludgie Heavenly Sword chickenshits come over here so I can shove that limpdick pussy ass GongGong up your asshole - “

Aroxy immediately shut down Helma’s comm privileges and grimaced at what he saw through the Von Luckner’s periscope. Radical insurgents and dirty bombs were like mixing oil and fire. The Free World Civil War thankfully never had guerillas who had access to enriched nuclear material. Through a twisted lens, Aroxy had to begrudgingly respect the insanity of the stratagem. The dam was the utilitarian nerve cluster of Nui Awa and silencing it would not only contaminate Nui Awa’s water supply for generations but likely blow them back into the Stone Age. It was a brilliant heartless tactic that only madmen could have come up with.

“ Turn 10 degrees to the left. 30 degrees up. Load smoke and fire on my signal.”

“ Only problem with that one, sir,” Ansel replied whilst loading a firing belt of 50 cal into the Von Luckner’s auxiliary Ramseys. “ We’re out of smoke.”

“ Acknowledged.” Aroxy blinked and then, peered out of his periscope in disbelief. “ I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Could you repeat that again?”

“ I said, we’re out of smoke.”
Aroxy wordlessly nodded and then, at the speed of a slug, slowly craned his neck over towards Takka who had taken command of the auxiliary MG mounted to the Merry Go Round’s turret to bisect a dazed insurgent who had been launched from their motorcycle.

“ Correct me if I’m wrong, Lieutenant Takka, but I remembered I specifically said to requisition new ammo from the quartermaster at HQ?”

“ Well……….,” Takka shrunk in his seat.

---

“ So, like….. So like…” Takka teetered on the edge of his seat as he stared at the reflection of himself in the puddle. His bloodshot eyes squinted, shifting towards the deconstructed tank shell cuddled in his hands. The gunner wasn’t sure how he managed to screw the top of the shell off and insert a rubber hose into it but in all honesty, the last 4 hours of his life was a total maze. He took a puff off the noxious mixture from the shell and breathed it out in sputtering gags.

“ Get this. Got a wild theory for you. What if we’re all just puppets controlled by cats. Cats with laser eyes. Think about it. That fucking Kerensky little shit thinks he can fucking jack my body at night and pilot it to rewire the quantum strings of the universe, he’s got another thing coming…”

---

“ Goddammit.” Aroxy slammed his fist against the hull of the tank. “ Guess we’re doing this the hard way. Helma, we still got incendiary?”

“ Aye, aye, cap.”

“ Takka, aim downrange of Echo-1. We’re gonna keep firing until all that goddamn truck can see is a forest fire.”

Takka and Helma worked together like a well-oiled machine, Helma chucking shells into the autoloader and Takka scattering the subsonic projectiles down a quarter of a klick from the front of the truck. The rounds splashed a sea of fire onto the plains, lighting the dry spring grass orange, as a cloud of black smog rose up to swallow the big rig.

COLD PLAGUE

Mira’s screams broke Omar out of his trance and he sees his superior squirming on the ground, the shadow of the woman over her. There is no time to think, only act. Omar took a deep breath to concentrate, barrel pointed at the woman’s face. Just as her teeth were an inch away from Mira’s throat, Omar presses the trigger. The 9mm bullet cores through the left side of her temple and exits out the other side in a bloom of dark red blood. Warm droplets spray on his cheek. The woman drunkedly teeters on her feet, jaw slack, before collapsing on the ground.

He stares at the body of the still, cooling corpse. His pistol is still aimed up, ready to shoot at any sign of movement. He takes a step and then, another. The corpse still lies motionless. Even after shooting her in the head, Omar can’t still help but believe against all logic that hse somehow may still be alive. He prods her with his foot and then, his head falls in both relief and shock.

“ Fuck,” says Omar. He holsters his pistol and walks over towards Mira, worry evident on his face. He silently appraises her for any signs of injury. He cannot bring himself to even acknowledge what just happened to her out of some hope that she can come up with an explanation. It only takes a few seconds of looking into her fearful eyes that he realizes that she’s in the same straits that he is. Omar then grabs her arm in a solid grip and slowly helps her onto her feet.

“ Did you see what I see?,” Omar gestured to the still body with a nod. “ Mira, this can’t be fucking real -”

“ My god, officers!,” Omar turns his head to see Mr Francocci standing in the open entrance of his office. His head tilts to get a better look and his gills turn green. He leans over in dry heaves. “ Oh god, oh god, I am never going to financially recover -”

Omar pinches his nose in exasperation as the store owner begins to go in the midst of an rant.

“ - Mr Francocci - “

“ - The cleaning bills alone would - “

“ Mr Francocci -” Omar says with a little more force. “ Sir, do you recognise this woman as the same one that came into your store?”

The store owner leans over hesitantly, his eyes peering through the cracks of the hand that cover his face.

“ Yes, I think she is, officer.”

“ Did you notice anything funny about her.

“ She was struggling to stand, sir,” The store owner rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “ I remember now. She was complaining that it was too hot in my store. When she vomited on my floor, her friend moved her to the freezer.”

Her friend. Omar stands up for a moment to take a quick look at the body he saw in the freezer with the flashlight. His face pales. It’s a gruesome sight. The man’s belly is completely excavated, torn to the bone. Omar can see white ribs poking out of the sternum. Why the hell had the woman eaten her friend? What would possess someone to eat a human?

“ Shit,” Omar steps back out, shaking his head. “ Mira, we got another casualty in here. Should we call EMTs?”

COLD PLAGUE

Now by all himself, Omar shuddered again as another groan surfaced from behind the door. Omar walked, more caution in his steps than ever, as he made his way to the freezer door. The surface was coated in a slick sheen of white frost that wormed in tendrils across the foam. He rapped his fist against the door lightly before speaking out loud.

“ Police, open up.”

The moans continued on. Either the perps were deliberately ignoring him or they were somehow getting their rocks off in a cooler room in the middle of a town-wide pandemic. Omar spoke again, this time more forcefully.

“ I said, open up. We’ve got you surrounded.”

Again, the damn moans keep going on as if they didn’t even hear him. Omar rapped the door again. No response. Omar’s finger absentmindedly thumbed the trigger of the Glock in worry. He could wait for Mira to come back with the perp or go inside to spare her the trouble. Who in their right mind would spend 1 hour being stuck inside an virtual icebox in one of the oldest counties in the north east?

Pushing his body against the freezer door, Omar slowly pulled it open, hiding his body behind the frame. Wafts of icy air billowed out of the door and into the restaurant. Omar twisted his frame in and pointed his pistol out, only to be met by darkness. Grunting in annoyance, Omar reached for the flashlight hooked on his belt and flicked it on. The beam of light cut a swathe through the impermeable void. His flashlight glinted off the gleaming icicles that hung from the damp metallic shelving units. All the while, the moans continued to echo inside the refrigeration unit, piercing the hum of the air conditioning units.

Suddenly, he heard a slick sound of something wet falling to the ground. Omar turned his flashlight around and his blood chilled. It was a woman standing over a still corpse of a man on the ground. His eyes were glazed over and his mouth was ajar, a trickle of blood flowing out.

“Maám, are you -,” Omar’s mouth gummed up the moment her neck craned around towards him. Her skin was a ghoulish white, varicose veins coursing underneath her neck and skin. Everything below her mouth was covered in dripping red blood, flowing down her shirt and pants. Strings of viscera were stuck between her blue lips and a long piece of pink gut hung out of the corner of her jaw.

She slowly stood up, tilting her neck curiously at him, before trudging forward drunkenly. Omar shifted the barrel of his pistol up at her neck.

“ Put your hands on the ground right now.,” Omar commanded but the woman paid him no mind. She continued walking forward towards him, arms lengthened out towards his neck. “ I said - “

Omar’s words were cut off as the woman leaned forward in a stumbling push, clawing at his neck. The cold of her skin scalded him numb, causing him to shout in pain. The trigger depressed and a loud bang issued from the barrel. The woman’s head flicked back and then, turned to look at him with that same dead-eyed look. The only difference now was that there was a gaping hole in her right cheek where he could see a swollen tongue flapping up and down.

“ Fuck!,-” Omar cried out. “ Mira?! We got a situation here!”

COLD PLAGUE

Omar didn’t quite know how to react to Mira’s action. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry that he misinterpreted her instructions or grateful for saving him from a potentially foolish mistake. Omar wondered if his time in New Jersey had made him too soft for the shit that happened in the north-east. It took a second for him to process Mira’s instruction as he leaned down to pick up the shotgun. He turned it over to the side and recoiled at just how unmaintained it was. It was an antique 870 but you couldn’t tell that from how chewn the wooden stock was or from the rust-coated barrel. Omar set the shotgun down and produced a clear plastic evidence bag from his person, zipping it open to wrap it around the long gun. He signed as he settled into the minutae of logging down evidence detail with a pencil.

“ Oh, thank you, officers,” The pudgy shopkeeper was dusting himself off as he approached the pair. His skin was pallid and moist with sweat and fringes of tufted hair grew around his bald head. “ Is there anything that I might assist you with?”

“ Can you tell us what happened here, Mister…..?”

“ Alfonso Francocci,” The shopkeeper puffed up his chest proudly.

“ Mister Francocci,” Omar said brusquely, all business. “ We need the details of what happened?”

“ Of course, officer. I was closing up my store early today.” Alfonso then looked at the man in Mira’s grasp with an irritated look. “ Then, this stronzo burst from the back of my store and pointed that gun at me. He asked me to empty all the cash in my register and when I refused, he gave this to me.”

“ Was he accompanied by anyone else?”

“ Yes, a woman and a man.” Omar felt his fist clench, the robber avoiding his gaze of disappointment as the rookie officer looked at him. “ She said she felt sick and went with her friend to the cold room.,” The shopkeeper pointed over Omar’s shoulder and Omar’s eyes followed the direction of his finger to a freezer door located near the dairy section.

“ I haven’t seen them since,” The shopkeeper rubbed his hands together out of worry. “ Do you think they might have - uh- ran away?”

Then, Omar heard the groan. A bass-like rumble that teetered on being animalistic from behind the freezer door. Omar looked at the shopkeeper to see if he was in the midst of a coffee-induced hallucination and the shopkeeper's frightened face dashed that theory. The rookie officer pinched his nose, looking up as though he was praying to some pagan god for good fortune before reaching down towards his holster.

“ Stay here,” Omar didn’t even bother giving an answer as he took out his Glock again. Just as he was about to make his way to the freezer, he paused and nodded towards Mira. “ You wanna get the perp in our vehicle or you feel comfortable letting me handle this one?”