Zeff

The Gifted: Insurgency

Fuck yeah they are. Mutie-free Americas and Tom's rad murals for all.

The Gifted: Insurgency

Back at the Storm Hound's camp, not long after the departure of Sam Harris' truck.

Jack Hurtgen* was jolted awake from his midday snooze by the sound of an engine starting. As he unzipped his sleeping bag and rolled out, he heard a stereo playing a song distantly. "Aw hell," he said to himself, "What now?"

As Jack peeled away the door to his tent, the source of his disruption came into view of his tired, barely open eyes. Before him loomed the boxy figure of an armored truck, whose flanks were dotted with numerous handrails. Clinging to one of these was a fully suited up, combat ready Kyle, who was even wearing the original Storm Hound helmet. Back in service, they were prohibited from wearing them, and instead wore helmets of regular units. The Storm Hound helmet always had more than a slight resemblance to a modern redesign of the stahlhelm, which wasn't exactly the best image for a US military unit. Now they were free of such restrictions. Further along the rear cabin's walls and on the other side were even more fully armed and armoured Storm Hound soldiers, the artificial muscle of their suits allowing them to maintain their grips and positions indefinitely.

Jack blinked. Then blinked again. "Kyle, what the hell are you--"

Though the lower half of Kyle's face was concealed by his combat rebreather, the tone of his voice readily conveyed that he was smiling, even if the mask gave it a mechanical, slightly inhuman quality. "Hey Jack! Wanna come with?" he said enthusiastically. "Just don't try and get in the back of the truck. We've got stuff back there." He hastily added.

It was at this moment Jack noticed that in Kyle's free hand was the handle of a monstrously large, multi-barreled weapon, with a long belt of ammunition that snaked into a back mounted unit. Though this weapon would be otherwise prohibitively heavy, the power armor made light work of it.

"Kyle, what have you got there?" Jack asked as he stepped out from the tent.

"Ah, y'know. Chaingun. Pulled a few favours here and there with some old military buddies I've kept in contact with. Ones that -didn't- end up losing their jobs, I mean. Most of them are all high ranked now. Only got enough fuel and ammo for one engagement, but I intend to put that to use, yeah?"

Jack gave only a slight nod. He wasn't able to put any of the other thoughts whizzing through his mind into words. As he got closer, a mural on the side of the van came into view. Above it was spraypainted "Genoslide!", and the mural itself was a depiction of a playground slide. Riding down the curve of this slide was an emaciated corpse in a purple mask and cape; superhero garb. The exit of the mouth was positioned before a pit in the ground, one that contained many similarly gaudily dressed corpses.

"You like it?" Kyle asked. "Tom did it for me. He's really good, isn't he? Never knew we had a budding painter among us."

Jack grunted slightly, his fingers reaching his temples. "Yeah, it's a real masterpiece. Look, what's this all about? What about the kid, Sam Helter? Sam Skelter? I don't remember. Please just explain."

"Well, you see, Sam was always going to be a diversion, on top of the goals we'd already spoken about. Where we're headed is completely different. Besides, we've sent a few novices on the other truck to reinforce Sam, even if he's dead by now." Kyle nodded, then nodded again for quick measure. A slight giggle erupted from him.

At this, Jack's head fully shifted into his palm. "You're all on the combat stims again, aren't you? This is why I always avoided that stuff, you know.

"Yeah, well, you were never one for fun, were you? Still a damn good soldier. But man, you don't know what you're missing! Speaking of missing, we're getting worryingly close to 'late', so. Seeya!' Kyle gestured to the soldier adjacent adjacent to him, who in turn tapped on the roof of the driving compartment with the barrel of his LMG. With that, the truck picked up speed and rode off into the woods.

*[Zeff's OOC note: I actually completely forgot there was already a Jack in this RP. If Ace's Jack and my Jack ever appear together, I'll just call him by his surname "Hurtgen" for convenience.]
________________________________________________________________________________________________________

And now back to Sam Helter, in CIR custody

Sam's face was bright red and his face streaked with tears, his heavy breaths bringing up booger balloons from his nostrils. It wasn't the most glamorous appearance the boy has ever worn. "At least I fucking killed my parents on the way here." He mumbled not so quietly. The CIR investigator peered over his shoulder at him with a quizzical expression, then continued leading him on.

Sam winced greatly as he passed by the noticeboard on the wall of the CIR station, each poster and flier he saw promoting mindfulness, equality and all that other lovey-dovey mutie shit turning his stomach. "You know what you muties are?" Sam spat venemously. "A bunch of... a bunch of fucking hackers! In real life! I was getting all the leet headshots, and then the fucking beardo weirdo, like... I don't fucking know how he did it, man! It's just mad gay!" The CIR officer took this moment to remind him of his right to remain silent, dearly wishing he would take up this offer.

In acute frustration, Sam spun around and extended his handcuffed hands at his CIR escorts. "I'm not staying quiet until you tell me which of you mutie fucks was the one that made my dad hit my mom, and made my mom hit me! I'm not staying quiet until you tell me which of the beardo mind control men made my mom take away my Xbox 1488! I'm mad as hell, and I want answers!" He sputtered through his phlegm, mucus and tears. One of the officers glanced around and, when he noticed there were no journalists in range, leaned towards him and said, "Kid, please for the love of god, shut the fuck up. I bet Kyle Kruger himself would be cringing like a motherfucker if he was here to see this shit." The verbal backhand was successful, and Sam was brought to his cell in subdued silence, with his head hanging down.

As Sam was shoved behind bars, the officer called out, "And 'beardo' has a name, for your information! He's called Jack, and he deserves more respect than you're giving him, ya dingus!"

Sam slumped onto his bed and huffed. As he rubbed away his tears and snot on the pillow cover, he bitterly reflected on the fact that they hadn't let him bring his dakimakura of Rainbow Dash with him. Little did he realize, Kyle had made arrangements to have it chucked into a pit, covered in gasoline and set on fire shortly after his departure from the camp.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Back out on the highway, where the Storm Hounds are looking for adventure, and whatever comes their way

Kyle, his men and his truck had by now pulled onto the main road. They were surely noticed, but surely didn't care. The stereo blared music, and they all sang along. The armored truck sped down the NY 17 , without any regard for other traffic. Many cars had flung themselves off the road or into each other at the spectacle.

"We should be going south east if we're headed to New York City, shouldn't we boss?" Tom called out from the other side of the truck.

"Exactly!" Kyle called back.

Kyle breathed the chemicals dispensed by his rebreather deeply. Objects became mere jolts of colour that streaked and stretched beyond him as the truck sped by. Kyle giggled giddily as he was swallowed up by the velocity and the riot of sensations that engulfed him. The sound of wheels in motion, the voices of his men, the music, the beeping of horns, and the wind rushing by, all commingled together as one sing-song voice.

Memories of his first kill came to him. The greying skin of the French soldier on the ground resembled gravel. The gaping wound, the canyon of flesh, along the side of the soldier's head brought to mind images of a great eyelid, with blood gushing out like red water. Chunks of brain matter were carried along among the profuse liquid as flotsam. The blood never stopped flowing. The gushing reached the intensity of a burst fire hydrant, and soon Kyle found himself on his back, adrift upon the ocean of blood, gently tugged along with its tide. His heart was no longer wrenched by the guilt of the act. Fear had vanished. He was at peace as he drifted and bobbed upon the surface of the blood. The sky grew red. All around him was all encompassing red.

The sky grew closer and closer, and he began to notice it wobbled and shifted. More blood. Droplets from the mass above him dripped onto his face. They tickled him, and he giggled and grinned. The sky-sea-blood had gotten so close now that he could see his own reflection in it. His rows of straight, pearly white teeth became jagged like that of an animal's. His left eye swirled in place like the wheel of a slot machine. As the wheel eye settled to a stop, its iris was no longer green, but an electric blue.

Reality began to reassemble itself. Kyle was back on the truck, watching the fields and trees rush by. He had regained his senses, but they were clearer. They were purer. His ears pricked as he could hear the distant sound of sirens closing in from behind them. He swung around on his rail and pointed the many muzzles of his minigun towards the space to the rear of the truck. Sure enough, several police cars had pulled into view, their lamps flashing.

"Guys! Over there! We gotta protect Tom's sweet mural at all costs!" Kyle cried.

"FOR TOM'S SWEET ASS MURAL!" They cried together in response, all turning their respective weapons on the police behind them.

The Gifted: Insurgency

This thread is where you learn the real lessons, like how the mutie menace must not be trusted.

Also, while I don't mind too much this time around, I did feel the resolution of the incident I had thrown together there was a little quick and anti-climatic. I also would have appreciated some more consultation about your intentions, my intentions, and what the outcome of the thingo would be beforehand. To clarify, the issue certainly isn't that Sam was thwarted, as I expected interference and expected failure. But I just felt like I had no input in how things went down, is all.

EDIT: I stress again that this is no biggy, but just something to keep in mind for next time C:

The Gifted: Insurgency

@Zeff ay! Yo! Can I borrow your little soldier boy?

@Ace of flames01

Whatcha got in mind, dood? I'll probably be up for it.

"I was planning on having Jack at the shooting and having him stop the shooting (via his gift aka his silver tongue); if that is okay"

Sounds alright by me. I was hoping for someone to step in and get involved anyway.

The Gifted: Insurgency

Show more respect to the Commodore!

(He actually has a character in the RP, just never posted for some reason.)

The Gifted: Insurgency

Sorry if I have thrown a spanner in the works somewhere along the way. I've just had that post sitting in a document for a long while, and was like, "Oh gosh oh gosh time to post it."

Shifter's War (Modern Fantasy RP)

Ah, that's fair enough. I kind of expected that might be a problem, really. But I'll see about rewriting things in a bit/after some sleep.

Shifter's War (Modern Fantasy RP)

Hi there! I'd love to hop in. Here's what I've got.

Character Sheet

Appearance: Rather tall male of a slim athletic build. Has dark blonde hair that he keeps in a short mohawk ("warhawk"). Tends to wear a warm expression.

Name: Klaus Meinard Ungeheuer.

Age: 28.

Faction: Human Military. Served in the Bundeswehr prior to the amalgamation of many national military forces in response to the shifter rebellion.

Shifter Form: Behemoth.

Behemoth Form

Personality: Beyond his brutish exterior, he is actually quite genial and easygoing. Klaus is high energy and extroverted to an extreme. However, it would be a mistake to assume he takes nothing seriously, a conclusion often prematurely reached by those who assume there's nothing more to Klaus than clowning around. When it comes to his duties, he suppresses his nature and adopts a soldierly professionalism. The exception to this is when he has shifted. In which case, take the thrill-seeking, energetic Klaus, and put this mind behind the wheel of a gargantuan monster. It generally doesn't end well.

While he's no thick meat-head by any means, he doesn't really go out of his way to strain himself intellectually either. Klaus prefers to imagine things are really a lot simpler than they are, and sees anything hinting at other truths as just something to bog him down. He by far prefers action to messy, imprecise theorization.

Sexuality: Homosexual.

Likes:
- Hanging out with buds.
- Physical activities of many kinds, although mountain climbing and gliding stand out in particular as passions of his.
- Has a fledgling interest in the "natural sciences", although never built on this and certainly never made it more than a hobby.
- Lounging about and watching movies to unwind from his typically busy life. Kaiju films are a particular favorite.

Dislikes:
- Sticks in the mud.
- Political and philosophical discussions.
- Complicated situations and generally anything not so straightforward, really.
- Getting popcorn kernels stuck in his gum.
- Having his home city incinerated.

Weapons: Military issue firearms if ever caught as a human, though mostly relies on the obvious advantages conveyed by his shifted form.

Bio: With Karl's service in the Bundeswehr (as a loader in a tank crew), it only came naturally that he ended up serving the human military in the brewing war between the races. This may seem contradictory, given Karl is a shifter. However, highly unusually, Klaus was not actually born this way, and rather this ability appeared later in his life. This has put him in an awkward position, as far as allegiances are concerned. Ultimately, he has settled on protecting human-kind, seeing himself fitting more into their category. His friends, family, and practically everyone he's ever known for that matter, are humans, after all. The complete devastation of his home city didn't do much to put a positive image of the rebellion in his mind. Despite this, he is devoid of any particular animosity for shifter kind. While Klaus wasn't a big fan of the horrific experimentation conducted on shifter-kind, he nonetheless acts in defense of those he loves, with the bigger picture seldom coming into things. He often comments that he wishes the rebellion lashed out against those specifically responsible for the heinous acts, rather than mankind as a whole.

As a shifter actually loyal to mankind, Klaus has become an indispensable asset to the military's efforts to try and suppress the rebellion before more cities are visited by the same destruction that razed Berlin. A lot of his time these days is spent either on exercise as military tacticians hastily try to throw together battle plans and ideal force compositions oriented around Klaus, or being examined for hours on end by scientists eager to understand the mechanics behind a human shifting into a shifter. Whether or not he is -the- Behemoth of the bible remains unclear, and is a subject that causes great intrigue and consternation.

The Gifted: Insurgency

Sam was now on the campus grounds. Previously he had been darting from wall to wall, hugging close to them to avoid notice, as he had seen in his movies and videogames. One problem: he was noticed. After being called a "Sperg" one too many times by the people who caught onto what he was doing, he made his way through the university like anyone else, through the crowds of people swarming to and fro. When a student got too near, he darted to the side. "So much heterochromia. So many muties. Disgusting." He thought to himself. That last word echoed in his mind with vehemence. "Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting."

He had at last pulled into a corridor that appeared empty. He slumped against a wall and huffed heavily.

He was jolted to alertness by a sudden voice. "What's got you in such a hurry? You look so stressed...!"

A girl had followed him. "An attractive one..." Sam mentally noted. He froze as she drew close to him. "Say, I haven't seen you around here before." She said pleasantly, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

As she brushed hair out of the way of one of her eyes, Sam's heart nearly sprang from his throat. "Heterochromia! A mutie!" He winced with intense revulsion and forced his eyes shut. Sam suddenly darted away from her and sprinted down the hall.

The girl paused for a moment, then shrugged. "How strange. I hope he'll be alright." she said to herself, then carried on with her day.

Sam had took a turn into a restroom. He didn't take the time to note which gender it was intended for. He looked in the mirror. His mid-length light brown hair was a mess. His face was tomato red and he was drenched with sweat. He followed the lines of the scars he had received from many a beating that cracked his face here and there. "I... I can do this." he reassured himself.

Sam swung the bag onto the sink, then reached for the zipper. He fetched from within several magazines, stuffing his pockets to burst with them. Finally, he retrieved the main attraction: the carbine. He pointed it at his reflection. "Fuck I look cool." he thought to himself. He shook his thoughts away, then headed back out.

As he left the restroom, he noticed across the hall the double doors of a lecture room. He approached slowly, then quickened his step. He tried to kick the door open, but didn't have enough strength to pull it off. He forced down his embarrassment and reached for the knob, then made his way in.

As expected, the eyes of the rows of students and the professor as well were already on the doorway, having heard the loud crash of his kick. He swallowed, then raised the carbine at his mostly baffled, hardly shocked audience.
Sam cleared his throat. "J-J-Jes... Jesus... s-sent... m... m--" Sam stammered. "Shit! I've been thinking of how this was supposed to go all morning! Damn it! Damn it!" He thought, followed by a rapid sputtering of curse words.

As frightened as the students were, some snorted, others chuckled. One called out, "T-t-today, junior!" This was followed by outright laughter and many more jeers.

"S-shut up!" Sam called out as he swung the barrel of the carbine around the hall, pointing its barrel here and there like an accusatory finger. This only worsened the situation for him. The urge to laugh had fully overcome the fear of death among all those in the hall. Sam's eye twitched.

"SHUT... UUUUP!" Sam yelled as his finger slammed back on the trigger. A first burst of fire cut down the professor. He then directed the burning lead onto others in the crowd. The massacre commenced.

The Gifted: Insurgency

Jokes aside, another thing to add to DarkTemplar's post is that while both Storm Hound and Scions are antagonists, don't mistake this for thinking they're on the same side. They've got veeeery, veeery different goals. They just both hate the CIR/Sentinels, in addition to each other :P

EDIT: Oh. I missed/forgot the slightly earlier post where this was already explained. But yeah. It might be a point that needs reinforcement anyway.