hi I'm ghøst(the username couldn't have a little crossed out o thingy T-T) and I'm excited to be on here , Ive been role-playing for about a year now and I would say my level is about low-mid casual I'm eighteen and I'm just ready to start role-playing as this quarantine has given me a lot of time on my hands, nice too meet you guys and I'm excited to be on this site.
Recently stumbled upon roleplayerguild, and wanted to check it out. I'm not new to roleplaying, but certainly new to here! I look forward to both running RPs and playing them on here.
See you out there on the forums!
Stay safe, y'all.
Welcome to the Guild! Can't wait to see what you bring.
But at the same time I get it; as an adult, mother, wife, sister, and friend who also has a career it's not hard to see moving on from roleplaying/online life completely. There's only so much time in a day.
Generally I'm happy for them, even if they're gone from here, though sometimes I just get sad about missing them.
Who do you trust? Tell me who do you trust? I see 'em coming at us But when the molotov drops Tell me who do you trust?
Name: Nicole “Nyx” Stathos
Age: 26 Actual: 26
Species: Kindred (neonate)
Clan: (Urban) Gangrel
Disciplines: Celerity | Obfuscate | Protean Note: her Sire’s former Sabbat affiliation has granted the above disciplines
Generation: 13th
Appearance: Standing at five-foot-four with a weight proportionate and lean muscle, Nicole had always been considered “small but tough” throughout most of her life. She’d been a very physical person, whether it was in work or play, and her shorter than average stature continued to push her to challenge everything.
Her hair, once long, wavey, and beautiful in her mortal life, was reduced to nothing. Shaved down to the scalp out of a fit of rage, after realizing a deep wound given to her by an assailant post-Embrace left one side of her head partially scarred. A spot where hair would never grow properly again.
A tomboy for the most part, typical clothing for her had always been more or less “streetwear”, or at the very least, tshirt, jeans and sneakers. Very rarely did she ever dress up for an event, unless it was absolutely necessary.
Personality: Confident. Outspoken. Polite. Genuine. Compassionate. Just a few traits that could sum her up. Always putting those she cares for first, Nicole would rather live a life where others are the center of her focus. However, don’t ever mistake her friendly disposition with weakness, as she will quickly remind you otherwise. Emotions can run high with her at times, especially in cases dealing with her struggles of immortality and adjusting to the unlife, however she does her best to repress those thoughts and tears in order to move on.
. “Your body is dying...pay no attention.”
The unforgettable quote from Interview with the Vampire resonated -oddly enough- within the woman’s otherwise agonized thoughts as she remained curled up in a fetal position on the cold, filthy tile floor of an unfamiliar kitchen in an equally unknown apartment. A place she will most likely never forget. A place she should have never found herself anyway in the late hours. The darkness. The horrible smell of trash, old bleach, spoiled milk, blood, and death. But not fresh death. Rather a creature whose body was rotten from long ago and far past its expiration date. The room had been full of them only minutes before, but now it was only...the silence. All but her heart, as the pumping slowed to a halt, and the once mortal coil she lived with for twenty-six years continued its transformation into something entirely more impressive. Perhaps even more monstrous. What was happening on that night? And more so, what had happened to the large man who caused this shift of lifestyle? A paradigm that was once laid out for the young woman, now turned to a path of uncertainty. The attackers, who had come out of nowhere, resulting in a scar across the woman’s face that may never heal.
And the creature...the hairy beast who saved her from a gruesome death.
How does one find themselves in such a situation?
It only makes sense to go back to the beginning.
-----------
Situated between the megacities of San Francisco and Los Angeles, and bordering Yosemite National Park, Nicole was born to a middle class family in the relatively sleepy town of Fresno. Daughter of a retired police captain, and a flower shop owner, the girl was - at times- standing before a crossroad, wondering just where to go with her life. She respected both of her parents occupations, as law enforcement and entrepreneurship were no easy tasks, however, after graduating highschool, it seemed that her father’s line of work had the most influence during her life and the Fresno Police Academy was the next major step on her journey. Was it something she dreamed of? Not necessarily. But she was never quite sure what her dream was, and simply settled for familiar territory.
Fast-forward seven years, arduous training, political bullshit, misogynist leadership, and generally gathering as much street knowledge as possible, and Nyx found herself in Los Angeles, or more specifically, West Hollywood, working undercover for the LAPD’s narcotics department for a few months. New to the division, but not the life of a police officer, the woman certainly proved capable enough in cracking a number of smaller pending cases that had otherwise baffled the local precincts. Perhaps the chaos and massiveness of Los Angeles simply needed a fresh perspective from a small-town girl, or perhaps, there were greater forces at work. Either way, Nicole was given the chance to strike at the heart of a blackmarket operation, as a meeting with the suspected ringleader was set into motion, with the young woman going as the “potential buyer”.
A few days before the meet -and simply wanting to unwind after a long day- Nyx met a few friends and coworkers at a quaint pub in Fairfax on Melrose Avenue, hoping to drown the stress and anxiety she felt at times on the job. It wasn’t the best idea for a cop, but it sure sounded great at the time. While sitting at a small table near the back corner of the pub, chatting it up with the others, Nicole couldn’t help but glance across the room, almost as though a subtle voice compelled her to do so, as she nervously curled a lock of her shoulder-length auburn hair around an ear. It felt...right. The feeling of possibly knowing the young brunette who sat at the bar nursing some sort of refreshment and exchanged eye contact. Within a few moments, Nicole excused herself, asking the others if they wanted anything from the bar, before heading over there, solely focused on the beautiful woman with the intoxicating smile. Very few friends even knew much about her personal life, especially when it came to relationships or sexual preference, but it all didn’t matter at that moment. There was only her and the mystery woman, and Nicole was intrigued. Stepping up to the bar next to her, she ordered for her friends, to at least keep up the appearance that she wasn’t just strangely drawn to a random female. Small talk or otherwise, they both spoke, Nicole finding herself smiling and blushing more than she had in a long time, caught off guard by the compliments and subtle flirtatious gestures from the woman who called herself “Eva”. After what could have been a solid five minute conversation, Eva handed Nyx a black business card, with a beautifully crafted lavender-tinted “E” emblazoned on the front, with parting words to contact her if she needed anything.
Nicole didn’t quite know what to think of that -just meeting her and all- but she smiled and nodded, before heading back to her table with a new pitcher of beer in her hands and a contemplative expression. Her friends gave the woman their own suspicious looks as to wonder what was going on between the two. One could only imagine.
The Animal I have Become.
The evening of the meet put Nicole in the heart of Park Mesa Heights, one of the roughest neighborhoods in South Los Angeles, and one of a dozen or so areas where cops were found brutally murdered with very little trace of the culprits. Unexplained shit was the norm it seemed these days, so Nicole wasn’t surprised that her backup -two unmarks- were mostly reluctant to take the job considering where the meet was taking place. But, early intel reported very little gang interference that night, so they had to take the opening while it was still possible. With backup flanking both sides of the condemned tenement along 15th Street, Nicole made her way to the second story apartment, as instructed via the dealer’s email, stepping over piles of trash, sleeping, drunk, or high vagrants, and dead rats before knocking at the door which opened within moments.
Greeted by a tall, muscular, bearded man dressed in mostly leathers and covered in tattoos, Nicole followed behind and locked the door per his request. The place was in shambles as one would expect from a building that had been considered “unsafe to occupy” for years, but it looked as though plenty of undesirables took shelter regardless of the concerns.
“I’ll cut right to the chase.” The large man stated, crossing his arms. “I’ve been watching you for awhile, and I know all about you.” He paused for a moment, before allowing a smirk to cross his lips. “Officer Stathos.”
Nyx wasn’t prepared for what had just happened, and her body tensed, her poker face giving away more than she probably hoped for. How the fuck does he know? Was there an insider feeding this shithead police-sensitive information? But he couldn’t know that much. Clearly it’s a bluff.
“Look, I don’t kn-”
“Don’t bother denying it, Nicole. I have literally every piece of intel on you that goes all the way back to mom and pop’s home in cozy Fresno.” He shrugged, while his voice remained even-toned and nonthreatening. “The bottom line is, you’ve got guts, you’re a good cop, and I want you.”
The woman cocked her head slightly, and was just about to say something, until he continued.
“No, not in the way you’re thinking, my friend. You’re not my type.” He snickered, taking a few steps closer. “More like, joining a family who will stick by you through thick and thin.”
The woman wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so she simply didn’t, but rather backed toward the door. Locked. Fuck.
“Now I know this is all a little unorthodox, but I assure you it’ll be over before you know it.” The bearded man kept his arms crossed as he stepped closer.
“Look, just stay the fuck away from me!” She exclaimed, slowly reaching for the 9mm tucked behind her.
The other simply shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that.” He responded, and before the firearm could be presented, supernatural speed positioned him directly at the woman’s side, knocking the weapon from her hand and pinning her against the door with strength that felt like the weight of a garbage truck had pressed down against her torso.
“You can struggle...” The man growled, his eyes glowing a subtle amber as he pierced her own frightened gaze. “But it’ll only make what’s coming next all the more painful.”
“Wait-”
Before further protest, a sharp pinch surged through the flesh on her neck, the muscles tensing, causing the woman to recoil and attempt to pull away from the iron grip of the large bearded man. But the short-lived pain quickly turned to a pleasurable experience as her body slowly relaxed, and the blood being siphoned from the open artery flowed freely and with little resistance. Her mind, body, and soul would all succumb to the song of the kindred. The Kiss. The Embrace. What felt like an eternity had only been a few moments, but the vampire who would become her Sire carried the woman to the center of the living room and laid her down onto the floor, before opening his wrist to allow his new Childe to feed. And feed she did, without much hesitation in fact, as though the very lifeforce which coursed through his veins called out to her. Beckoning her to become one. One flesh. A pact that would be unbreakable until Final Death.
In a sudden turn of events, the front door of the apartment was kicked in and off its hinges, and three figures -silhouetted by the light of the street ambience- rushed in, catching the Gangrel off guard. The lead assailant, a hefty dark-skinned brute with a shaved head and gold teeth snarled baring fangs as he leapt with inhuman speed at the bearded vampire, knocking him against the adjacent wall. The large Gangrel recovered quickly, landing on his feet and springing forward with ebony claws out and rage in his expression. The altercation between the two seemed to go on for what could have been mere seconds at their rate of acceleration, with growls, hisses, and the crunching of bone and cartilage with each exchange of punches and kicks.
And there was Nicole, her body slowly going through the agonizing physical and psychological transformation of vampirism, was of little use in an otherwise vulnerable state.
But, it mattered not, for as quickly as the fight started, it ended, with the Gangrel being held by the other two attackers, and the leader pulling a large iron rod from his coat and placing it over the heart of the bearded one.
“How did you find me?” The Gangrel hissed through clenched teeth.
“No one dips out on the Sabbat.” The dark-skinned man growled before driving the rod through the other’s chest, eliciting a blood curdling howl before his body went limp. “Take that punk-ass outta here.” He spat. “I’ll deal with his bitch.”
The woman’s body continued to react to the vitae introduced into her system minutes early, even as she stared up at the man looming over her with a poisonous grin, trying to formulate words of help or to plead for her life. She had no idea what was transpiring at that moment. Was she drugged? Had she been hit by something? Her head throbbed, muscled convulsed, and veins burned with a fire from a thousand suns. The Gangrel’s own blood was killing every cell in her body, reforming organs and tissue into something else. Something...monstrous.
“Pathetic lil dog.” He shook his head mockingly. “Not even worth my time, but can’t leave any loose ends.” He said, pulling a military grade tactical knife from his coat. “And yo a fuckin’ huge loose end. And don’t think your friends are coming. Nope. I’d say they're out for the count. For good.” A wry grin crossed his dark lips. “Fuckin’ mortal pigs.”
“But-ah, I’m gonna take a lil souvenir before I slice yo pretty ass up good.” The dark man leaned over the woman and grabbed a handful of her hair, running the blade across her scalp as Nicole’s own hand grabbed on his wrists. Strength was slowly forming in her muscles, but not enough to do anything worth keeping the stranger from cutting away a few locks of hair from the side of her head.
“Fuck you!” She vomited out the words as blood streamed from the corners of her lips, feebly attempting to punch her assailant in the head with her free hand. One. Two. Three. The punches did nothing as the dark man smiled, taking his own hand and raking clawed fingers across part of her face and head, which caused the woman to scream in pain as the inherent poisons aggravated the wounds.
“Ev’ryone has their kinks.” He chuckled, hovering the tip of the blade over the exposed and bloodied throat of the woman. “Mine just happens to be causing pain-”
But before the vampire could finish, he sniffed the air and quickly turned his head in surprise only to notice a creature, whose stature reached the ceiling, looming behind him. Although it was too late, as the hairy beast thrust it’s large clawed hand forward, grabbing the head of the Sabbat creeper, and slamming him against the floor with a force that sent a rumble across the apartment. Again and again the Werewolf plowed the head of the other against the splintered hardwood floor until the body went limp, and no longer was the vampire a threat.
The towering creature allowed a low growl to slip through it’s huge muzzle as it merely stared at the female neonate laying at its feet, her own eyes glared back with a mixture of confusion and rage.
“You’ll need this, and I suggest you get the hell out of here soon.” The beast said, tossing a blood pouch which landed next to her before effortlessly hoisting the dead vampire up and over its shoulder and heading out through the door.
“Ah...and let Eva know that my debt is paid.” It concluded, disappearing into the darkness.
And so we end where this began. On the floor of a place unfamiliar to her, staring through eyes that did not belong to her prior to the Embrace that changed everything. The blood pouch had been ripped open easily enough, and a woman who’d never thought drinking blood of any kind would be a treat, guzzled the two pints down as though it would be her last. It began it’s mending of wounds, although the scars on her face would never truly heal fully. And it didn’t take long for at least the hunger, the rage, and the instinct to want to rip something apart to subside as the vitae ran its course, nourishing as best it could. Extinguishing the beast within that so badly wanted to claw its way out of the darkness.
Not today Satan. But maybe tomorrow.
Hands trembling, Nicole sat up and reached for her phone, calling both men who were to be the backup for the operation that was clearly a total cluster fuck. It wasn’t even real. It was all a sham, and the woman fell for it, hook line and sinker. There was no answer from either cell, and while shaken and confused beyond belief, she needed to know, and so she stood and made her way out of the apartment complex to where the unmarked cars were to be positioned. And there they were. The cars. The corpses of both officers. A bullet to each of their skulls. Their lives ended due to a big joke.
And Nicole was the punchline.
She wanted to cry, but could not. Tears that were once something familiar to her had disappeared. There was nothing but agony and guilt. She reached into the car and grabbed the police radio, calling out for emergency assistance due to two police officers down. The whole operation was a bust. It didn’t matter who knew about what anymore. It was all a setup. Who could she go to? Sure as hell not her Captain. Nicole couldn’t stop shaking. It wasn’t the hunger from her new unlife, it was fear of the unknown. Fear and uncertainty of anything anymore. The initial transition from mortal to kindred was no easy thing for the psyche to wrap around. None of it should be what it is, but it happened. Although...what happened? What was happening to Officer Nicole Stathos?
That night fear compelled her to flee. To run far from where all of this had gone down. And so, with a heavy conscience she leapt into her car and peeled off into the coolness of the night. Back to her apartment. Back to the familiar turf of West Hollywood.
Hey, I'm Rod(despite how I spelled it). Some things about me: Male 25 Single as fuck Have a lot of free time on my hands History buff I don't care for details or anything of the sort, I just want the general idea
Hey, I’m Palace. I’ve floated around this website a few times before, several years back, and it’s nice to see that it’s still around. Decided to make a fresh start, and made this post as a formality, as always.
Then the second one was fired. He heard it, and returned fire from the nearest hostiles on ground level. The hostiles on the opposing roof were at a bad angle, and of course it had been them that fired the second rocket. The RPG put a whole through the shitty little concrete and bad tile little house, or apartment, or whatever, that they had ducked into when they realized it was an ambush by a dug in and well armed enemy first. Diggs and Preston were dead. Penna had been shot in the arm dragging Diggs out of the street. They felt okay until the first rocket. The second rocket he only recalled white haze and ringing.
The little house, or apartment, or whatever across the small dirt road exploded with small arms fire as the ISIS fighters pressed their advantage. Garcia kept speaking as calmly as he could yell into the radio, and he himself would chime in when appropriate. But he was too busy shooting. Every time a burst of fire came it became a new target for him to aim at. His M4 was warmed up and his shooting was true. That's why that had started in with the rockets. The first shoot he thought they missed, but during a reload he realized that it hadn't missed.
A bullet had grazed him with a sudden metal sting.
The second hit came a clip later, after the fire from the ground floor began to die down. It was a three round burst, two of the three rounds slapped right into his left shoulder. The shock and force sent him to his ass. Then it seemed like the world exploded again, grenade outside, maybe. Not big enough to be a rocket, he felt. Then things got even louder, far as he could tell. It all sounded like he was at the bottom of a swimming pool, and it was all going on above the water over his head. The sudden silence was stranger, then someone shouted something. Something that sounded happy, and then there was a hand on his good shoulder.
When he looked up he saw her: white and black and gold glittering. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, but that was almost missed in the moment he first saw her glowing in Iraqi sunlight. "Sarge," was all she had said to him, a soft smile and a long look at his shoulder. Her cape was dusty and settled in the breezeless Iraqi home, or apartment, or whatever. And she still looked perfect to him. When she turned and spoke to the rest of his squad, that smile. That air of absolute invincibility.
The medical teams got in fast, it was easy. The official report said that Charlie Squad came in as heavy relief. What actually happened was a miracle from heaven, as far as he had been concerned. His squad told him about how there was a golden blur, and then all the shooting stopped on that street. A few minutes after she touched his shoulder, shooting around the entire block of this Iraqi city had stopped. The operation was the lowest death total for combined Coalition forces in years, and far less than had been expected with how dug in the terrorists had been.
The memory played again and again, as if it were suddenly free to roam his mind.
He wasn't in a safe place to be in the present either. Not by five miles in any direction. This deep into the woods of Missouri and there were no cellular signals. There was a Dollar General that they'd built before the last flood. Folks were surprised when it reopened, even though LeAnn Walter, the manager, had been telling them they would. LeAnn wasn't from this particular stretch of back country Missouri. According to one ATF report, "the compound may be the most heavily armed stretch of Missouri outside of military sites." There was a sneaking suspicion that the report was lowballing it. There was a tail almost immediately after the crash scene.
Grey SUV, windows dark, sunglasses, rarely close enough for any of that to be seen. Good thing the tail had been there after he left the Sheriff's Station, again after he left JR's BBQ shack at lunch. It hadn't mattered as much to Murphy as had the revelation. Only with meat sweats from lunch, and a few beers, combined with the anxiety of that grey SUV and the guy with the sunglasses showing up again--only at that point did it hit him. At first it came so sudden he laughed, big and loud and until tears threatened his brown eyes. Then he had to try to call someone, but he couldn't.
There was no one he could reach out to if they were following him and he was right about his revelation. They'd be tracking him. So that just left him the options of places to go, moves to make. Favors to call in if things were desperate. He would have felt better about it if it had all made sense, but it still didn't. Was what he had done this morning really worth all of this? There wasn't a good answer he could think of, and it just kind of pissed him off. Like he was a Private Second Class getting screamed at for something as stupid as being five minutes later all over again.
There was a reason he had left the Army.
Technically the name for the compound was Greystone Ridge. Everyone around the area, even ol' LeAnn Walter, knew it by the name Greycoat Ridge. The group had different names; the KKK part of them was some Knights of the...whatever it was, the Neo-Nazi youth movement it's own dumbass moniker, they even had a brand of Motorcycle Club. They were professional criminals, the lot of them, and they had always been happy to assist Missouri law enforcement any time it was needed. They were also extremists and conspiracy theorists. Entering the compound wasn't something he just did. He had to approach, give his name and his business. What he said almost didn't get him in, but it did get him in, and that was the part of the gamble that had spooked him the most. The drive to the chapel was the easiest part, heavily covered by the canopy of trees and bush as the entire compound was, the first day of the year warmer than expected and bright and sunny.
"Lucas." The sound of his name on the old gray haired man's tongue sounded as much greeting as it did warning to him. The old man stood in the doorway of the chapel a beat or two, before slowly shutting the door behind him. He was suspicious. George had never been a fool. Grand Wizard, Grand Pappy, just ol' Grand; whatever title you wanted to give the man that wasn't used in polite company. You're not that large a factor and that long a key player without being a shrewd operator, Lloyd had told him a few times before. "What the hell are you here for?" Murphy almost blurted it out before Lloyd added on,"Is this about Jimmie?"
Murphy smiled down at the Deputy hat he held in his hands as he sat on a pew halfway down the small chapel. The ceiling was tall, the windows were tall things that let the natural light the trees filtered flood in with a hint of green. For a lot of racists and psychopaths they could sure build a pretty place. "I remember her, now." I've seen her before. The smile that burned from that return of that memory to his mind flickered and faded as the weight of Lloyd's gaze grew heavier with each passing moments. "Yeah, it's about Jimmie. I got to call that favor in."
The words came to Murphy breathless, like he'd knocked the wind right out of the old man. "What did you bring?"
Murphy turned in the pew, looking up to Lloyd now. "I'm being followed. Do you know anything about metahumans in the area?"
"That damn lake facility. We only know it's heavily guarded and watched in every way you can think of. What do you think you did to set that place off? Pull over the wrong government suit?" It was a snide remark enjoyed with pleasure by the old man.
"I remember her. I didn't do anything, but I remember her, and I think maybe they know...that I might remember her."
"Who?" Lloyd was at the end of the pew now, age spotted hand resting roughly on the woodwork of the pew.
"The Sentry."
"Never heard of them."
Murphy smiled, bitterly. "They followed me here. The lake people, probably, I wasn't too far from there when I saw the woman at the accident scene."
"What you done for Jimmie...he's alive because of you. But you bring government to our door?" Murphy shifted to his feet. Lloyd didn't let him interject, his old hand coming up into the air quick to silence the cop. "We're even after this, Lucas, and next time this compound sees you we will sees you just the same as we see any fucking cop or government suit. Get a gun or get out."
I was kinda thinking both. He almost said it, if not for the sudden burst of fire. Mile or so north, where the mountain meets the fence and the entry gate with it's dual guard towers. Lloyd was already gone before Murphy could say anymore, but at least he had a chance to lose the tail, and slip out with a target in mind: the facility at the lake was too much for him alone.
But if that facility and it's manpower was busy with Greycoat Ridge he might just have a chance at Rachel "Stevens" and the horse ranch she was at. Whatever her name was, if anyone could give him an answer, or at least keep him from dying because of the government men all around them, it was the Sentry. A four door Jeep Wrangler and a rifle with a very big scope in the back awaited his service revolver and him near the side of the compound that was only mountain road, and the road part of that was probably best liberally applied. But the Jeep with the lift and it's four doors was his way out.
The increase in firearms sounds and the air chopping noises of multiple helicopters above the trees was his cue. "Thanks Lloyd."
---
"I'll stay."
"You will be dead. She will kill you."
The eldest man with the thick head of white hair scuffed and readjusted his glasses behind the cherry wood desk. "No she won't."
The other man just looked blank, suited without the tie or jacket. He'd been at the lake facility for longer than he had planned. Too long. "I'll find the cop and kill the cop."
"An American on American soil?"
The blank look was the only response given, at first, "Let me explain to you something: we have a unmitigated disaster perpetuated by a man that has acted as dangerously as he has selfishly. I bet you all the money in my pocket against all the money in your pocket this cop knows something. Whether he's private, or he's state sponsored hardly seems to matter to me right now when we have DEAD BODIES." His appearance had ceased being blank; now pale white skin had turned flush and red, his nostrils flared, and his brown hair stood up to the point where a heavy hand was glazed over his head and his hair to make it go back to something approaching normal.
Omar stood in the corner trying not to piss himself. He was a physicist by training, which had led to software engineering, which had led to working in the field of Q-Bits; Quantum Computers. Omar loved his dog, and missed his parents, and he really didn't want to die. Imagine, he thought, being the poor schmuck who's there to answer some very specific computer questions before suddenly CIA Black Site drama begins to explode in front of your eyes?
Oh and:
DEAD FUCKING BODIES!? WHAT THE FUCK!?!
Omar was having a hard time focusing. The scariest guy in the room suddenly wasn't the site overseer, the Deputy Director of Computational Intelligence. The black site was always this big attempt to take hacked data and government coercion and turn it into the kind of network focal point needed for a nation wide range of experimental computers and server arrays. None of them, none of the techs, knew the reason they built the facility here, at this location in southern Missouri. The real reason for the place to exist, for the entire network to exist; it was a woman. A kind and pretty woman. He had ran into her accidentally twice, and one time he accidentally bumped into her and nearly knocked her over. She was so nice about it.
He was a klutz. All he could do was breath and not move.
Omar didn't agree with that. Omar didn't think that she would kill the Deputy Director. He was old, and he was just a middle man. Or even if he was evil, why kill him? She was too nice for that. She had a kid, he even wanted to think, but deep down he knew better. There was enough in the servers he had access to only for server maintenance (but hacked his way through the rest) to tell him the real truth of that.
But she was a mother.
The Special Agent was now putting his suit jacket on, slow, the sweat on his forehead shined in the overhead light of the office in the bunker, brownish silver hair slicked back and short. "I'll tell him when we have the cop. Mendoza, handle your business." The Special Agent walked out, and suddenly Mendoza was staring daggers at him. She was cut-throat and cruel, but she wasn't a bad person. It's just what had become of her. There had been kindness in Mendoza, and before recently he even almost liked her. Outside the office she leaned into him and threatened his life.
"If you ever repeat what was said in there, you will never see them coming." And then she turned on a heel and marched off down the corridor, calling behind her, "I'll meet you down there."
His first thought had always been the tunnel. It was the middle obvious place. The most obvious was the back exit. It lead to a nice place with firm land. It was a breeze if you got to it and no one was there, but there would be armed men there, more than likely. The second most obvious place was the front entrance, or was that reversed? Either way, they were obvious but bad ideas. The loading dock wasn't a bad idea at all, but their security was great until you got past the big yellow blast door. Then it was just mostly assumed you belonged. There were cameras and guards, but they never seemed to be watching too closely. Or were and knew better than to act on anything minor.
The worst option was the large hangar platform that was used only for emergencies.
The middle option was the water cooling pipe for the big server farm in one of the sub-levels. It would flood the servers which could affect...Omar just couldn't know for sure. His guesses were bad, and some less so, and it was all a gamble. It would allow them to slip out and not be totally full of water. It was a middle option. Least resistance, best chances all things considered...
Getting there first became a problem. Server Farm Water Cooling Flow 2 was the goal.
When the door to the Habitat slid open he had maybe five minutes. Probably not there. "They're going to kill you. There's a person named Rachel, she's your best shot. Server Farm Water Cooling Flow 2, you'll have to follow the computer to find it, but once you do you have to override the controls and flood the server room you'll be standing in...but Flow 2 leads out. You'll have time to make it pretty far before water comes rushing up behind you. If you can't find an access point out of that tunnel you'll end up on a stretch of the Ozark lake that's privately owned. Her house. If you do find an access point you'll be in the woods on her property. Find the house. Find her."
It was word vomit, and he was literally tugging and pushing at her. He was a thin and nerdy American Indian guy but he knew what he was talking about and he knew that they didn't have time. The worst part was from the Habitat to the elevator. It was maybe twenty five feet. Omar felt like he was going to pass out, or vomit, or both, the entire way. That Mendoza wasn't waiting for him when the elevator door opened made him laugh with shocked relief.
One miracle down! All they needed were three or four more. Before the elevator door closed the shot rang out. Omar hit the elevator wall blinking fast. Pain and failure cascaded through his various biological systems as bullet that could have gone through body armor shredded into his chest. The door closed. When it opened the sub-level with the server farm was dark, just shapes and various colored lights staring for nearly infinity before them. The tunnel was five minutes right and along the left wall, with barely a label.
"Go...please be a good guy, man..."
They were his last words, as his fixed on the next direction even in death.
@Ruby Thank god it was you! I was on my mobile and thought I might have pressed a wrong button somewhere and decided to move the PW. Almost had a heart attack xD
Take heart. That wasn't you, or even me, but Mahz. We can't move entire subforums...yet.
Former...lots of things on this site. Above all, former RPer/creator.
I'm retired, I'm gone. Keep creating, always.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Former...lots of things on this site. Above all, former RPer/creator.<br><br>I'm retired, I'm gone. Keep creating, always.</div>
The Man Emperor,
Lord Wyron,
Ezekiel,
Plank Sinatra,
Chronic,
Americore,
ThatLostDude,
Kaithe Dame,
Estylwen,
Izurich
